


My Baby Shot Me Down

by LightningInABottle



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Dark Will Graham, F/F, F/M, Gun Violence, Hannibal Lecter Being an Asshole, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Insanity, Kill Bill AU, M/M, Manipulative Will Graham, Mass shooting, Murder, Murder Husbands, Not a Love Story, Pain, Psychological Trauma, Revenge, Serial Killers, Shooting, Stabbing, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Unstable Will Graham, Violence, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-05-31 15:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19429123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningInABottle/pseuds/LightningInABottle
Summary: Will Graham, having run away with Hannibal and then run away from him, is now a changed man. He lives in Florida with his fiancée and adoptive daughter. He's left his old life behind.But when the unthinkable happens and he loses everything he's ever cared about, something snaps. Now, he'll do anything for revenge. He will find Hannibal Lecter, and he will kill him, no matter who he has to get through first.But the past has other ideas, and as Will continues his gory journey, more and more of it is revealed.





	1. Just For Me The Church Bells Rang

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Kill Bill AU, and it has a major canon divergence at the end of S2 that will be revealed as the story goes on. Up until then, the series plotline remains the same. I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Bang bang, he shot me down  
> Bang bang, I hit the ground  
> Bang bang, that awful sound  
> Bang bang, my baby shot me down

**_Six months earlier:_ ** __

Will Graham stood at the altar of a chapel, all the air stolen from his lungs, replaced with blood and the insatiable urge to scream. His tuxedo was torn, shards of glass embedded in his skin. Around him was pure chaos; he trembled with horror at the feelings overwhelming his wedding guests. Pain. Fear. Dread. Everything was razor-sharp, the world thrown into clarity by the sheer impossibility of something like this happening. Although Will wanted to run, to protect, to hide, his body was frozen still, paralyzed as the symphony of desperate cries grew louder and louder, until he thought he would never know peace again. 

_ Bang bang. _

It had been ten minutes since Francis Dolarhyde walked into the church and open-fired on everyone standing. 600 seconds and more than thirty lives snuffed out. Will had never met the man, but he had seen the crime-scene photos of Dolarhyde’s other tableaus and recognized the person suspected to be the Red Dragon. He had one moment of cold realization when the door closed, right before the first gunshot lodged in the chest of Will’s future mother-in-law. 

_ Bang bang.  _

A new kind of terror seized Will when he heard a voice, soft and trembling, cut through the air. It grabbed his chest in a vise grip and refused to let go until it felt like he was suffocating. He whirled around, already knowing what he would see. Dolarhyde towered over a woman, her once-white dress stained irreversibly red. Tears ran down her face but her expression was determined as she shielded a small boy. All of the remaining oxygen in Will’s lungs left his body suddenly.  _ Not Molly. Anyone but her.  _

“...please, we won’t say anything... just don’t hurt the kids...they’re just children..” Molly’s eyes met Will’s, and they were filled to the brim with fear. Maybe it was just his imagination, but she mouthed the words:  _ I love you, _ before turning back to face Dolarhyde. Wally’s face was scrunched up, eyes shut tightly as he curled into a small ball behind his mother. Will finally found his nerve, fueled by the intrinsic need to protect his fiancée and her child. Molly was innocent. So was Wally. They didn’t deserve to die. 

None of them did.

Will’s fingers curled around a shard of glass and he leapt forward just as the gun in Dolarhyde’s hands went off with a sound that made Will’s veins ice over. Molly flew back against the marble chapel steps, spraying them with blood and flesh. For a moment, she reached out to Will. And then she slumped back against the floor and was now Molly’s body, lying prone and bleeding from two gunshots to the head. 

_ Bang. Bang.  _

Will went stumbling back, the glass cutting into his fingers until his own blood mixed with Molly’s below him. This time, he did scream, a blood-curdling shriek that cut through the now-silent chapel. Dolarhyde didn’t even flinch, only turning slowly to stare at Will unflinchingly as he put the barrel of the gun to Wally’s temple and fired. Will screamed again, and for a horrible moment, he thought he was the only survivor. But then he felt rather than saw Abigail by his side, and somehow that was worse. She had gotten up after playing dead on the floor, and they faced Dolarhyde. 

They were going to die. But at least they would die together.

“I’m sorry,” Abigail whispered, shaking with the force of her tears. “I’m so sorry.”

Will’s hand came to rest on his daughter’s arm as Dolarhyde watched them silently. All those people dead, without so much as a word. “It’s not your fault.” 

“But it is, I was the reason you left hi—” Abigail’s trembling speech was cut off with a shout as she tugged them both to the floor, narrowly missing Dolarhyde’s warning shot. Dolarhyde looked down at them and then dropped his gun. Will’s one second of hope was dashed just as quickly as Molly’s life had ended. Her last spoken words to him were  _ ‘tomorrow morning, you’ll be my husband.’  _

“You are not mine to kill,” Dolarhyde began to walk away, and Will couldn’t get the strength to stand. “This is not a personal attack, Mr. Graham. It is simply my Becoming.” Will could not help but notice how he stumbled over the syllabant  _ s.  _ The Great Red Dragon walked out of the doors of the chapel, leaving behind him a bloody mess, a gory incubation tank for the creature within him. 

But it was personal. So, so personal. Because right before the wide doors closed, Hannibal Lecter strode in, dressed to the nines, the furrow between his eyebrows contradicting the wicked grin splitting his lips. 

He walked forward without even glancing at the carnage laid out for him, right down the aisle. When he came to a stop, it was right beside Will, at the altar. What tragic irony. Abigail was silent, but her hand found Will’s, slicked with red. Hannibal crouched down, smiling almost fondly, even as his eyes were as cold as ice. 

“Hello, Will.” 

All was silent. Will flinched when Hannibal, oh-so-gently, brushed the sweat and blood soaked hair from his forehead. His hand came to rest tenderly on Will’s jaw. Every breath was fragile, like the final heartbeats of a dying bird. For a single, delirious moment, Will thought they were about to kiss. But then he felt the cold slide of a blade in his stomach and  _ knew.  _

This was revenge. A cruel spectacle hidden only by the adoration Hannibal plastered all over his gestures. The knife was curved, and it sliced through Will’s organs like they were made of paper. Brutally quiet as it robbed the life from Will, draining him. All the while Hannibal leaned over him, unreadable, his presence both a source of comfort and of pain. Will made a hoarse sound, clinging to consciousness. 

“I would like to believe, even now, you're aware enough to know there is not a single trace of sadism in my actions.” The knife twisted in Will, and Hannibal smiled softly. “Maybe towards the others. But not to you, never towards you.” For a moment, he looked almost loving. “No, at this moment, this is me at my most masochistic.” With that, he angled the knife and tore Will’s flesh open once more. 

Hannibal yanked the knife from Will’s abdomen with a sick squelch and a spurt of viscera. Now the agony came, tearing through Will as he writhed on the marble, body cut open and exposed to the air. Pools and pools of red surrounded him, and he wanted to dive inside them, swim down to the bottom, and join Molly and Walter. But Abigail. Abigail was still there. Every movement jerky, Will pressed his palm to the gushing wound.

Abigail rose up from the floor as Hannibal beckoned her forward. She went to him easily, like it was second nature. Will knew was Hannibal was planning, his empathy wouldn’t let him forget. Step by step, Abigail joined Hannibal at his place by the altar—like a sacrificial lamb being presented, white wool not yet tainted. Will sobbed; a chorus of  _ no no no no no.  _ Apparently, he was speaking out loud, because Hannibal gave him a sharp look and reached out to their daughter.

“Abigail.” He smiled, a madman’s twist of the lips. “Come to me.” She obliged, shuffling closer. When she was standing in from of Hannibal, she turned around. Her eyes were as big as saucers when she looked at Will, tears flowing freely. 

“No...Hannibal, no please don’t do it. Hannibal, no no  _ no. _ ” Will’s voice was unsteady as he begged. He wondered if it would ever be stable again. It felt like his vocal cords were being ripped from his throat, left severed and dangling down his chest. By the time Hannibal grabbed Abigail around the waist and pressed the curved knife to the side of her neck, Will was screaming. He tried to push himself up, but fell back down, accompanied by dizzy black spots in his vision. 

The first spurt of blood was hot against Will’s cheek, and Abigail made a strangled noise of terror, finally trying to get away. He struggled against himself, the urge to close his eyes and wade into the quiet of the stream in his mind. The pain was deafening, rending his body into ribbons of flesh and bone. The darkness was coming quicker, fueled by the desperation with which Will cried out. 

He was going to die like this, bleeding out beneath the altar where he was supposed to start a new life, with the knowledge that he had gotten everyone he ever loved killed. 

“ _ Hannibal, pleas— _ ”

Will’s words cut off when he fell back into the darkness, overwhelmed by tortured fear. The last thing he saw was Hannibal’s knife at Abigail’s throat, sliding easily across the scar formed years ago, until her blood mixed with the rest of his on the marble floor. No, that wasn’t quite right.

The last thing he saw was Hannibal’s face, razors for teeth, bottomless pits for eyes, and opened arteries for lips.

* * *

**_Present day:_ **

Will Graham awoke too quickly to be able to imagine that everything was alright. There was no pretending he was in his bedroom, arms wrapped around Molly, with Abigail and Wally arguing outside their door whether to wake them up or let them sleep. The hospital bed was too rough, too cold, the air too sterile to be his secluded house. And then there was the IV in his arm, the beeping of the machine that let him know he was alive despite the fact that he wanted to be anything but.

Even through the haze of drugs, Will tore the IV away, sat up, and squeezed his eyes shut to keep the light from the window from shining in. The machine began to beep. If he was anybody else, the sound would have distracted him, kept him from thinking, remembering, realizing.

Molly, Wally, Abigail.  _ Everyone.  _

Everyone from the new life Will had built for himself, free of murder and madness. Dead. Shot through the head, organs splattered on the chapel floor, eyes wide open to behold their God’s verdict. Everyone but him. 

Will screamed, hoarse from disuse. He kept screaming until a harried nurse ran into the room, reached out for him. She spoke in soothing tones, which quickly turned into shrieks of her own when he lunged for her, aiming for the eyes. As soon as he managed to get his ring finger hooked on the outside corner of her eye, he scraped his nails down her face. Fresh blood sprang to the surface of her broken skin. The nurse tried to stumble away, but he was on her, more rabid creature than human. 

“ _ Where are they!”  _ He tore at her brutally, blunt fingernails shredding skin, pulling the hair right from her scalp. “ _ Where!”  _

A long time ago, someone—he couldn’t remember who—had told Will that asking questions one already knew the answer to would only lead to more conflict. But that was exactly what Will wanted. He wanted the ragged, bloodied nurse to admit to the world that a man who had his very heart cut away from him no longer had anything to lose. He wanted the world to look upon the destruction he made and to know that when the universe failed to protect Molly, protect his children, it unleashed a force so terrible that even the hosts of Hell would be scared. 

Or maybe he just wanted to hurt, like he had been hurt.

Dimly, he could feel the door being thrown open, people on him, a syringe being jammed into his neck. And then he felt nothing except Molly’s presence, eyes crinkling as she smoothed his hair back and guided him into the quiet. Will rather liked it there. 

* * *

When Will opened his eyes again, they locked almost immediately with those of Jack Crawford’s. The fluorescent hospital lights were too bright, but when Will tried to raise a hand to block it, he found that his wrists were strapped down. Same with his ankles. When he began to struggle against the restraints, Jack’s face remained neutral.

“Hello Will. How are you?” Although he sounded like he was making small talk, Jack’s voice was solemn. He regarded Will with an expression somewhere between pity and resolution. 

Will barked out a laugh. “Oh, just fine and dandy. Can’t wait to go home to my family.” He narrowed his eyes into venomous slits. “ _ Oh wait…”  _ He felt a small stab of satisfaction at the way Jack flinched. 

“I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am for what happened, Will.” 

Will could sense bitter, angry tears rising to his eyes, pricking at his throat. He blinked them away. For a second, he caught a glimpse of himself in the window reflection and saw not Will Graham, but someone feral, deranged. “Condolences won’t bring them back, Jack. Did  _ thoughts and prayers  _ manage to resurrect Bella?” 

This time, glee welled up in Will at the way Jack recoiled. The moment of weakness was quickly lost to time when he rose, leaping up to lean over Will. It was like a taunt, Jack free to move while Will was tied down. “I would shut your damn mouth if I was you. Attacking that woman doesn’t help your case.”

“I don’t particularly  _ care  _ about my case right now, since I’m technically a victim.”

Jack sighed, exasperated. “Freddie Lounds and her band of starving reporters are right outside the door of this hospital, clamoring for a quote about how the FBI’s loose hound viciously mauled a nurse.”

Will stopped struggling, let himself fall back against the mattress. “Funny, that. I’d have thought she’d be here with a gift basket.”

“ _ Will.”  _ Jack pulled himself away, began to pace around the already-cramped room. Will couldn’t help but notice the guard, hidden silently in an out of sight corner. The beeping of the machine Will was hooked up to, along with Jack’s steady footfalls, added a metronomic quality to the room that somehow increased the tension and hid it all at once. “Why did you lash out at the nurse?”

Will chuckled without a drop of humor. “Why did Dolarhyde open fire on my wedding rehearsal?” 

Now  _ that  _ was news to Jack. He whirled around to stare directly at Will. “ _ Dolarhyde  _ was there?” Will clammed up, and Jack began to run through the possibilities. “This is big news. I mean, I thought as much, but we have actual proof now.”

“Proof of what?” 

Jack took a deep breath, circled around to face Will once more. He did not seem as nervous as he should have been. “You are aware that the Tooth Fairy, also known as the Red Dragon, was suspected to be Francis Dolarhyde, yes?” Will nodded, rolling his eyes. “After you refused to profile him, and after the… _ incident,  _ we began investigating Dolarhyde further. Turns out, he was in contact with Hannibal Lecter, and has been during the time you’ve been out. We didn’t have proof that he was in the chapel, but now we do, thanks to you.”

Will thought he was going to be sick. “So you  _ knew  _ this was going to happen?”

Jack jumped back, a tiny bit of fear shining through his stony mask. “ _ Knew _ ? Don’t be stupid, Will. I never would have put you or your family in danger. No, what I knew was that Dolarhyde was no longer serving his own agenda. I had no idea he would target you. But I suspected if Hannibal was involved…”

“Hannibal wasn’t involved,” Will bit out, voice rising sharply. “He had nothing to do with what happened. That’s all on Dolarhyde.”

Jack wasn’t convinced. “Are you telling me that you’re certain Hannibal Lecter had no part to play in the murder of your new friends and family?” Will tried to force hot tears back into his body. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe.”

“What I find hard to believe is the absolute lack of sympathy you have to have in order to come over here and tell me you knew what happened in that church. I’m telling you now, I cut all ties with Lecter in Europe. He doesn’t care for me anymore. He didn’t care when took Abigail with me when I ran, he wouldn’t care if I married someone. He. Wasn’t. There. This was all Dolarhyde and I intend to  _ destroy  _ him for it.” Will took a deep breath, and another. He began to feel dizzy again. 

A nurse ran into the room to adjust something, and soon, Will felt like he was drifting in a cloud, far away from what was happening. His emotions vanished, replaced by calm, as he collapsed back like a puppet with its strings cut. When he looked at Jack again, he was sitting down, reading a book. So maybe more time had passed than Will initially thought. Speaking of time…

“How long has it been?” 

Jack looked up, startled. “Sorry?”

“How long was I out?”

“It’s October 19th now. They brought you in exactly six months ago, February eighteenth.”

Another pang of nausea threatened to overwhelm Will. His fiancée, his children in all except blood were buried without him. Hannibal had stolen everything from him. And Will was going to make him pay. 

Jack rose from his chair, snapping the book he was reading closed. Will caught a glimpse of a silver cross on the front and tried not to scoff as Jack walked closer.

“Look, Will. I’m sorry for everything that happened to you. But I’m not here to offer condolences or warn you about the press, or get information from you. I’m here because I know you and I know you’ll want revenge. The Red Dragon’s body count is growing higher and higher, and the FBI is launching a full-on manhunt for him. I’ve been advised against this but…” he took a deep breath. “If you want to help track Dolarhyde down and bring him to justice, I would be happy to have you on my team again.”

Will laughed darkly, kept laughing until the guard and Jack were giving him similar looks of concern. 

“Don’t you remember what happened the last time I worked for you?” Will snapped. “My psychiatrist drove me nearly insane with encephalitis, put me in prison, and then still somehow managed to convince me to betray you and run off with him to Europe.” Will got quiet and refused to say any more. 

Jack sighed, pulled his wallet out of his pocket, and pulled out a business card, his name, address, and number printed neatly across. He set it on the table next to Will with a nod. Then, he set down the Bible he was reading. Will raised an eyebrow.

“It, uh, helped me. After Bella…it was nice to read.” He turned to leave, and just as his fingers touched the door, Will spoke. 

“What part?” 

“Huh?” 

“What part do you like to read the most?” 

Jack gave Will a strange look before responding. “I’m rather partial to the Gospel. Reminds me of love and better times.”

Will smiled, but it looked more like a grimace. His eyes did not mimic any of the emotion his face showed. An empty husk of a man, strapped to a hospital bed with a Bible at his side. A man with nothing to lose and everything to take.

“I prefer classic Old Testament revenge.”

Hannibal had drawn the battle lines, cut the first wounds, and Will would make sure he would pay. No matter what he had to do, no matter who he had to get through first: Will would bring down a reckoning onto Hannibal, and make sure every debt was paid for in blood. 


	2. Seasons Came And Changed The Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the massacre is found, Will encounters another brush with death. And after waking up, he decides to pay a visit to an old friend.

**_Six months earlier:_ **

The FBI swarmed around the bloodstained chapel, staring in silent horror at the grisly crime scene. On the outside, everything seemed normal, just another sunny afternoon. But as soon as the doors were opened, the unmistakable coppery smell of blood and fear drifted out, carried by the breeze. More than two dozen bodies were sprawled across the floor, brain matter and gore splattering the walls. The ones who were unlucky enough not to get shot in the head died with expressions of terror twisting at their features, making them as unrecognizable as the bloody stumps around them.

And at the front lay Will Graham, positioned right below the altar with his legs out and arms crossed, like he was about to be lowered into the ground right there. A vicious stab wound tore across the front of his tuxedo. Not too far away lay the bride’s body, a young child’s mangled corpse right next to her. A wedding with all of the guests dead. 

Jack Crawford had seen many crime scenes, looked right into the eyes of madmen and responded with only the same neutral face. But this, this was something else. For the first time in years, he had to actively keep from vomiting. It seemed Alana Bloom, who stood next to him with her eyes squeezed tightly shut, echoed his sentiment.

“Oh God...Jack. It’s our fault, for not giving Will the witness protection when he came back to us.” Her voice cracked, and for a second, she sounded like she was going to be sick. Crime scene photographers, autopsy examiners, and body transporters swarmed around them. 

“When Will ran off with Hannibal all those years ago, he forfeited any right to a normal life.” Jack swallowed down his feelings. This was not his protege, his coworker, his friend. This was a man who had gotten too close to the darkness and then tried to pull away. 

Alana’s eyes snapped open and she turned on Jack with a snarl on her lips, cheeks red in sudden fury. “And whose fault is that? You pushed him and pushed him right up to the edge and then was shocked when he pushed  _ back.  _ Will and Hannibal Lecter could’ve killed all of us easily, but instead, they slipped away quietly, left you with a dinner invitation to an empty table.” Her tone rose to a shout. “He  _ saved your life,  _ Jack, and all you can manage is ‘ _ he had it coming?’ _ ”

Some assistants who were taking notes paused to give the two of them startled looks. It only made Alana angrier. How dare they treat this like just another tableaux? She dropped back into a whisper, hissing every word with venom. “Will came back to us in the end. He left Hannibal in Europe and came back. And he tried to start a family.” Almost unconsciously, she rubbed her fingers over her own wedding band. 

Jack sighed, looking years older than he really was. “Don’t think I’m not affected by this, Alana. But that was his doom.”

“Falling in love with a madman?” Alana looked out at the carnage, at Will laid out like an offering. “Or leaving him?”

Jack had nothing to say to that. Alana blinked away tears, trying not to think of Will and the family he had lost. Realistically, the FBI didn’t even know if Hannibal was responsible. And they might never know, considering Will was with his family now. From the very second Will betrayed the FBI for Hannibal, everything had changed. Even more so when he came back to them from Europe under full immunity, with Abigail Hobbs in tow. 

Minutes ticked by, with Jack and Alana standing side by side. She wanted to ask him if he felt even slightly guilty. He wanted to ask her if she would ever stop feeling the guilt. And yet they knew the answer to those questions would both be ‘ _ no _ .’ But at least it was now possible to close the chapter of their books dedicated to Hannibal and Will. 

“He’s alive!” A crime scene photographer who was currently leaning over Will screeched, falling back on his hands, camera swaying around his neck. “He’s alive, oh my god he’s alive.”

“Get an EMT in here  _ now _ ,” bellowed Jack, sprung into action. Alana stood frozen, barely believing Will’s luck. She ran to him quickly, putting pressure on his wound. How could they have missed it, the faint but steady pulse of life?

“Come on!” Alana raised her voice, waiting for the stretcher to be wheeled in. A new kind of desperation seized her. Will couldn’t die now, he couldn’t. Alana told him as much, murmuring hurried words until he was pulled out of her arms and into the stretcher. They moved him out quickly, rushed by Jack and Alana’s insistent words. 

Alive. Against all odds, Will was alive. Alana let out a sigh of relief, not thinking of the family, the wife, the kids. Only of her friend and the heartbeat he still carried.

As Will was rushed to the hospital, Alana could not help but wonder if he would even have a heart when he woke up. She knew all too well, how people with everything taken from them were the most dangerous because they had nothing to lose. But she brushed that thought aside and instead raised her eyes to the chapel ceiling and began to pray to the God she didn’t believe in.

* * *

“He’s alive. They brought him to the hospital an hour ago.” The woman spoke crisply, but with no lack of elegance as she walked down the sterile hallway, phone pressed to her ear with one hand and carrying a small tray with the other “Was that through purposeful intent on your part or just another fluke of nature?”

The voice on the other end of the line chuckled. “Nature has no flukes. We live because God wills it and we die for the same reason.”

She turned down a corridor and scoffed. The white nurse’s outfit chafed at her skin, but at least she attracted no attention traveling through the winding hospital’s halls, headed right for a particular room in the ICU. Although it was hardly intensive care considering Will Graham was stabilized thirty minutes ago. “You believe in no God but yourself, Hannibal.”

Hannibal’s smile was almost audible. “Then I did not wish for good Will and I’s teacup to be completely shattered quite yet.”

She gritted her teeth until her jaw began to ache. “ _ Liar,”  _ she hissed. “I know your intentions. He was meant to die from your knife in that chapel. But because of a  _ fluke,  _ he survived.

Things got tense. She paused in her journey to Will Graham’s room, sure that Hannibal would notice her heels stopped clicking. When he finally spoke, something was markedly different, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Is that resentment I hear in your voice, Bedelia?” No response. 

Bedelia du Maurier stopped in front of a particular door, using her stolen keycard to buzz herself in. Even through the sharp smell of antiseptic, blood still hung heavy in the air like the breath of a vengeful giant. The curtains were drawn over the windows, and the rest of the room was furnished with a chair, a small table where she set the tray down, and a bed that looked more like a coffin. Lying there, hooked up to a machine, was Will Graham in the flesh.

For a man on the brink of death, he looked pretty good. The dark, dried blood was scrubbed off of him in flakes, his stomach was neatly bandaged, and his serene expression made him seem almost peaceful. She decided she rather preferred him quiet like this, no flicker of madness in his eyes, no feral snarl on his lips.  _ I may have disliked you. Maybe even despised you. But that’s not to say that I don’t respect you.  _ After all, very few people could hold Hannibal’s attention for long.

“Tell me how he looks.” Hannibal sounded more desperate than commanding, although a person who didn’t know him well wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. 

“Do you wish to see through my eyes?” Bedelia couldn’t help but ask. “Or do you just want to see how far I’m willing to go for you?”

“An assumption rooted in hubris. I assure you, it is simply because I cannot see his face. My memory palace never prepared for such an outcome.”

Bedelia sighed, turned her attention back to Will Graham. “Comatose. He looks at rest, but in the way a beast chained to the bottom of the sea would seem. Like he could wake up at any moment and exact his revenge. I heard the doctors talking, they say the wound will scar.”

“Good,” rumbled Hannibal’s voice from the phone. Bedelia felt a chill run down her spine at how deeply intent he sounded, as if trying to visualize the havoc he had wreaked. “Go on.” It was not a question.

“He looks just as you left him in that church, still and unmoving, like a prince in a glass coffin. No smile on his face, yet he wears the same look of satisfaction when he peers into the mind of a killer.”

“And whose mind is he peering into now?”

Bedelia hesitated. “His own.”

The silence between them stretched on for so long that Bedelia thought Hannibal had hung up. But when she checked the phone, she saw he was still there. Unsatisfied in his longing for the man he had torn apart. She continued speaking. “If Botticelli were alive, he would draw Will in shades of amber. The resting avenging angel. Lying on a bed of blood and bone, gaining his strength from those fallen around him until he can break free from his jeweled skin and emerge.”

Hannibal hummed, low in his throat. Bedelia’s lips turned upwards, imagining the contents of Hannibal’s next sketches. She had already seen a few, from classical to psychedelic, to downright obscene. 

“Thank you,” he said at last. 

Bedelia cleared her throat. “But I’m afraid Will Graham will not have the chance to emerge from his self-imposed prison of flesh and dreams of vengeance.”

“Why would that be?”

Bedelia kept the phone pressed to her ear with her shoulder, smiling like a viper as she reached over to the small table and took a syringe, already filled up with a clear liquid. “I have what you suggested. Fentanyl, midazolam, and cisatracurium. A three-drug cocktail used most commonly in lethal injections.” In her opinion, it was a better death than Will Graham deserved. But Hannibal had been astute in his instructions. No pain, quick and easy. Bedelia uncapped the syringe, held up one of the thin tubes keeping Will alive. Without a twinge of remorse or hesitation, he pressed the needle’s tip right up to the plastic.

“Stop.” Hannibal’s voice was sharp against her ear. 

“What?” Bedelia hissed, already understanding what had happened.

“I said,  _ stop.  _ Will survived for a reason. We will not sneak into his hospital room and execute him like a dirty snake.”

Bedelia made a sound of frustration, glaring at Will Graham venomously as she slammed the syringe down on the tray. Damn the twitchy little man. Damn him right to hell for surviving what most people couldn’t. “You had no problem with  _ executing  _ him a couple hours ago.”

“That was before,” Hannibal said simply. “Before I saw his face.” 

Bedelia felt a sick wave of envy run through her. If she hadn’t spoken up, Will Graham would have been dead by now. It wasn’t fair. She may have brought out the monster in Hannibal: peeling back the person suit to reveal what was underneath, but Will removed even that, stripping Hannibal down to his basic core of humanity. “You need to crush the bird while it’s still fragile. Not give it another chance to grow talons.”

“Thank you for your help, Bedelia, but I’m sure I can manage. The chances he’ll wake up are low enough as it is. I simply believe Will deserves a fair death, not by the gun or needle.” 

_ Because there’s no intimacy in that,  _ thought Bedelia bitterly. She wanted to know what would happen if she did it right now, cut off Will’s life and claimed it was an accident. But she already knew. Hannibal would track her down and torture her within an inch of her life, make her sorry she even cast a stray glance at Will Graham. 

“So what now?” Bedelia forced herself to turn away from the comatose patient. 

“No need to get curt with me, Bedelia. I appreciate your help immensely. No one has ever quite understood me as well as you.”

“And Will Graham?”

Hannibal inhaled, then exhaled again. When he spoke, he sounded almost weary. “Will Graham was not a suitable substitute for therapy.”

Bedelia picked up her tray, a sudden burst of indignation welling up inside of her. Ever since Hannibal had forgiven Will’s betrayal years ago, and they swanned off to Europe together, doing God knows what and killing God knows who, she had known, viscerally, that it should’ve been her. Hannibal should have killed them all, stabbed Will in his kitchen three years ago and gone to her instead. But he had left with Will Graham and paid the price. Now he wanted her back with him, wanted to amend his mistake.

“Am  _ I  _ a good enough substitute for Will Graham?” Bedelia’s tone was sharp, snarky, but no less refined. Hannibal didn’t say anything. He didn’t say anything for a while. And he didn’t say anything when Bedelia hung up on him, breaking the phone and throwing it on the tray. 

As she walked out of the hospital room, she could’ve sworn she saw Will stir, looking directly at her.

* * *

**_Present day:_ **

Will Graham knocked on the door of a quaint, suburban house, situated at the end of a neighborhood cul de sac. The yard was mowed well, the driveway swept neatly. The front door had decorative glass in the middle, shining in the sunlight as a contrast to the almost dull brick. All in all, it was a regular place for a regular nuclear family to live.

There were no children playing—they were all at school. The adults were inside, hiding from the heat wave that had swept over the Arkansas town. Everything was still. The silence was only broken by the creak of the door as it opened, revealing quite the familiar face. He hadn’t seen her in three years, but it was her alright. She had traded in her trench coats, tightly tied buns, and sniper rifle in exchange for a blue shirt, jeans, and a daughter. 

Will smiled humorlessly, his eyes empty. He had nothing left to lose. “Hello, Chiyoh.”

Dread flooded her expression, the face of a woman who saw the grim reaper at her doorstep and knew she was deserving of its judgment. Will reached for the gun tucked under his belt, but not before Chiyoh’s hand left the doorknob, only to travel somewhere on her body and withdraw a knife, which was promptly held against Will’s throat. And so they were left, pressed close together, a hairpin trigger away from death. 

“I was going to kill you at your front door,” Will growled into her ear. 

Chiyoh chuckled with no emotion. “Sorry to disappoint. Come inside?”

Chiyoh’s home was almost predictably boring, the kind of place everyone dreams of as a child looking through IKEA catalogs but never ends up getting. It was one story, but spacious. The two of them stood in the living room, only a couple feet away from a couch with throw pillows saying ‘ _ live, laugh, love,’  _ and other ironic bullshit. The curtains were pulled open, and Will hoped his timing was right and nobody would come outside to see him. 

After all, it had only been a couple of weeks since he checked himself out of the hospital and tracked down the first of the engineers of the massacre. The last thing he needed was Freddie Lounds sticking her nose in his business. It would be her turn soon enough. 

Will tucked his gun back in his belt and turned his attention to Chiyoh, whose knife glinted like a deadly promise in her hand. Her reflexes were deadly, there was no way he could attack right now. “Did you buy this place on Hannibal’s blood-money or did your girl’s father pay for it?” 

Chiyoh’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t see how that’s relevant. And if you’ve been doing your research correctly, you would know that I wanted a child, not a husband.”

“Well, I wanted my wife  _ and  _ my children. Look where we are now.”

Chiyoh frowned, looking almost regretful, but before she could open her mouth to speak, Will was jumping towards her, twisting the knife out of her hand and throwing her against a decorative mirror hanging across the couch on the wall. The glass shattered, shards breaking apart in an explosion as Chiyoh hit it. Unfortunately, no bones broke, but she slumped forward like a ragdoll, trying to regain her footing. She dropped to the floor, scrambling for a shard to use as a weapon. 

Will lunged at her, slamming her head against the wall. He couldn’t get his gun out now, too much chaos. Chiyoh’s face twisted in pain. Somehow, she grabbed onto a can of something heavy by the door—wasp spray, he realized belatedly—and sprayed it into his face. There was barely enough time to close his eyes, but the repellent got in his nose, his throat. Will coughed, and Chiyoh twisted away from him, launching herself from the wall. She barely scrambled up when he was on her again, tackling her down by the place where the mirror broke. Her chin hit the hardwood floor and she grunted. 

His arm twisted around her neck, a brutal headlock. Chiyoh coughed and spluttered, clawing at his wrist, digging up blood with every scratch. Will could feel the life being choked from her, her heartbeat growing dimmer and dimmer. But it wasn’t enough. He needed her blood, needed it hot on his face, the true proof of his revenge. When she began to relax, he reached for his gun. The next thing Will knew, he had a shard of glass stuck in the junction of his neck and shoulder. Chiyoh tried to slice through, but it was flimsy and fell out of her blood-slicked fingers. 

Will winced, pressed a palm to his neck as he let his arm fall away, releasing Chiyoh’s throat. “You missed.” The wound was nowhere near dangerous; she hadn’t hit his carotid artery. But Chiyoh was already up, scrambling away from him. Probably to the kitchen. When Will started after her, he realized an unfortunate effect of being comatose for six months: he was slow, far slower than he was used to. By the time he caught up with her, she had a kitchen knife in her hand. She pointed it at him threateningly.

Will grabbed for a weapon, anything he could use. He settled on a frying pan sitting on the stovetop, barely deflecting the slice of Chiyoh’s knife. Like a sick parody of fencing, they went back and forth. Chiyoh’s cheeks and arms were cut up from the mirror, and Will knew he probably looked just as bad, with a piece of glass in his neck and a red face. Slowly but surely, he was being forced back, around the kitchen island, to where they came from. She was disturbingly skilled with the knife, and sliced it, lightning fast, against Will’s knuckles. 

He shouted out a curse, dropping the pan, and she responded with a kick to his torso, right on the bandages wrapped around his stomach. Will went sprawling out of the kitchen, onto the unforgiving living room floor. Back where they started. She jumped for him, knife angled towards his throat, but he rolled away just in time. Before he could react, figure out a semblance of a plan past the deafening pounding of his heart, Chiyoh was running. 

But not away, no. She crossed to the fourth wall, where a modern shelf stood, thin metal structure and glass shelves, complete with ceramic plates and other paraphernalia. Will only had enough time to shield his eyes before it was being tipped over on him. Stabs of pain ran up his body. He should’ve just shot Chiyoh at her doorstep. Would’ve been much easier. She was a better opponent than he had thought she would be. Even time in retirement couldn’t dull her reflexes. 

Will pulled himself away, panting heavily. He could feel the blood from shallow cuts running down his shirt. When he finally stood, he saw Chiyoh had regained her kitchen knife and was pointing it at him. He glanced around, and his eyes locked on the blade she had lost earlier. It was small, almost like a pocket knife, but razor-sharp. 

He stumbled to his feet, pointing it at her. “You…” he sounded hoarse. “Are fucking difficult to kill.” 

Chiyoh looked flattered, tipped her head. They began to circle each other. “You’re not so bad yourself. Reconsidering?”

Will’s eyes flashed with a dangerous fire. “ _ Never. _ ” He came at her, knife outstretched, but she jumped away expertly. This was going to take a while, as exhausted as they both were. Things got quiet, so quiet that Will could hear laughter ringing in his skull. But then all the color drained from Chiyoh’s face and her eyes darted to the window where a yellow school bus had stopped and Will had to resist the urge to laugh because  _ oh this was good.  _

He had calculated for Chiyoh to be dead by the time her daughter came back from school. But throughout the fight, he had lost track of time. Chiyoh’s eyes were wide, desperate, pleading. She mouthed words that Will didn’t care enough to translate. Molly had begged for her child’s life too. There, with the children running down the sidewalk, he decided he would kill her in front of her child. Outwardly, he nodded and tucked his knife behind his back just as the door opened.

Chiyoh grinned, but it was strained. Her own knife fell to the floor. A stupid move, all things considered. “Hey, sweetie-pie! How was school?”

The girl also had dark hair and an intelligent glitter in her eyes, but where Chiyoh was pale and straight-haired, her daughter had coppery skin and wild curls tied in pigtails. She stared at Will with a furrow in her eyebrows, like he was an addition problem she hadn’t quite found the answer to.

Will could feel his heart dropping to his gut. He knew the daughter existed, he just didn’t expect to feel so madly  _ jealous.  _ Jealous of the fact that Chiyoh had gotten her happy ending, gotten her family, while Will was left with gravestones and scars. It. Wasn’t. _ Fair.  _ He could only stand, frozen with fury and longing, as Chiyoh crossed the glass-scattered living room floor and wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter. 

“Nikki, this is Will. Will Graham. He’s here to talk to Mommy about something.” Chiyoh risked a glance back at Will to find his eyes glued to the two of them. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she thought there were tears shining in his eyes. But as soon as the moment of vulnerability had come, it was gone. She kissed Nikki’s forehead. “Go up to your room and wait, alright? I love you.”

“Love you too,” Nikki mumbled and turned to run up the steps. 

“How old are you?” Will’s voice cut through the air, sharp as a whip. Chiyoh froze up, and Nikki cautiously responded:

“Six.” 

Will nodded slowly. “My son was twice your age. And my daughter’s about twenty-one.” 

“Where are they now?” Nikki had begun the slow journey upstairs, but moved up the steps slowly, not taking her eyes off Will. Chiyoh’s face darkened like a storm cloud had passed over it. She rushed her daughter upstairs without another word. As soon as Nikki had vanished into her room, Chiyoh jumped back to face Will.

“Dead,” he said flatly, responding to nobody but the wind. “My son and daughter are dead.” The more he said it the less true it seemed, like a word that had been repeated past all meaning. “Did you adopt yours?”

Slowly, Chiyoh nodded. “Yes. I figured…”

“It was better not to reproduce? Yeah, I got that. I was the same way with mine. Loved them more than anything.” Will couldn’t be sure if Chiyoh’s emotions were genuine, but they spilled across her eyes like ripples in a puddle. He stepped towards the stairs and she jumped.

“Relax,” he drawled. “I’m not going to murder you with your child in the next room. I’m not Hannibal.” Will must’ve been convincing enough, because Chiyoh stepped down, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. It came away bloody and she sighed.

“That’s more rational than Hannibal led me to believe you were capable of.”

“Hannibal is wrong. It's mercy, compassion, and forgiveness I lack, not rationality.” Will grinned, like a wolf baring its fangs. Chiyoh didn’t say anything for a while, eyeing him suspiciously. 

“Let’s go to the kitchen,” she said at last. “I want to clean up my cuts. And also…” she looked upstairs to Nikki’s room. “I have to fix her an afternoon snack.”

Will followed Chiyoh into the kitchen, stepping cautiously around the fallen skeleton of a shelf. His throat still stung from the wasp spray, and he could feel the scratches on his arms stinging. Neither of them spoke, an uneasy truce struck between them. Chiyoh went to the sink, ripped a few squares of paper towel. She got an ice pack, held it to the back of her head. 

Chiyoh wet a paper towel and handed it to Will. Will tried not to let his disbelief show. Was she really so trusting as to let her guard down? Then he realized: she really did believe his promise not to try anything with her daughter around. The funny thing about people is that they tended to assume things based on previous trauma. People thought Will would be heartbroken, almost sympathetic towards Chiyoh’s little handmade family.

How wrong they were.

“So.” Will wiped at his forehead and cheeks, wincing. “You helped Hannibal arrange the massacre, didn’t you? Just like you helped us two get to Europe undetected when we first ran away.”

Chiyoh wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It was my duty.”

“Kind of a sick duty to have, murder.”

“I’m sorry, Will. I was told it would only be you and your fiancée. There was no talk of harming children or innocent guests.”

Anger welled up in Will and he did his best to contain it. He moved on to cleaning his forearms. “So  _ Molly  _ wasn’t innocent enough?”

Chiyoh shrugged. “Hannibal called her the usurper. He said she stole the throne of your heart, stole you away from him.”

Of course Hannibal would think something like that. Will blinked tears into his eyes. “I lost everything _ , _ Chiyoh.  _ Everything.  _ You have to understand—you get to have your daughter, a home. I don’t have anyone anymore. Hannibal saw to that.” 

Chiyoh went to the refrigerator, got a carton of milk out. She turned her back to Will as she took a bowl and poured Lucky Charms into it. Will couldn’t help but smile, although it didn’t reach the rest of his face.  _ Soon _ . “You have every right to want to get even—”

Will cut her off. “—To get  _ even _ , even Steven, I would have to kill you, go into Nikki's room, kill her, then kill everyone you ever knew in this life you’ve made for yourself. That would make us even.” 

“I’m sorry, Will,” Chiyoh finally said. “But my loyalty is to him first and you second. You have to understand.”

Oh, he did. The second she turned around, Will’s gun was pointed right at her, safety clicked off. He didn’t hesitate this time. With startling precision, he fired one clean shot into her chest, making sure to avoid the heart. Chiyoh made a strangled noise as she was thrown back against the counter. Will could hear the thud of footsteps coming downstairs as Chiyoh sank to the floor of her kitchen. Her wound was not fatal, which didn’t mean she couldn’t feel pain. It just meant she couldn’t  _ do  _ anything about it.

He loomed over her, truly an avenging angel in the glow of the lamp above him. Her eyes were wide with shock and betrayal and desperation. Will wondered if that was what he had looked like in the chapel. It all felt so distant now. Gone was the man from before—in his place stood someone merciless and cruel. Stepping forward, Will jammed the toe of his boot into the open bullet wound. Chiyoh screamed. 

“You ruined my life, Chiyoh, with your  _ loyalties _ . You helped Hannibal kill innocents. Women, children, friends who did nothing except get to know me. You are responsible.” He leaned down over her, angling her chin so that she was forced to look him in the eyes as she bled out. “I judge you and I have found you guilty.” And with that, he emptied the entire clip in her body, most of the bullets lodging in her chest, a couple in her throat. Blood spurted up, splattering his face. Will smiled, watched Chiyoh’s mangled body relax into the tile. 

Finally.

When he turned, Will made eye-contact with her daughter, who seemed to be shaking with horror, not quite understanding what had happened while at the same time realizing the ramifications. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. She tried to stumble away, but instead fell on her back. Will stalked over to her slowly, expression cool and calculating.

He offered a hand to her. She took it. 

Will patted Nikki on the head, smoothing his fingers over the little curls clipped back with pink barrettes. Then, he went over to the bowl of cereal Chiyoh was making and filled it with milk. He grabbed a spoon and gave it to Nikki with a smile.

“You’re a good kid, Nikki. If you’re still feeling bitter about the whole thing, come and find me in a couple of years. You already know my name. But for now,” he patted her head again. “Let's just keep this our little secret, okay?” 

She nodded. The innocent daughter, who had done nothing wrong except be adopted by a mother who was anything but innocent. Technically, Will didn’t lie. He  _ wasn’t  _ Hannibal, he didn’t kill just random people.  _ No _ , he thought, glancing at Chiyoh’s body,  _ only those who deserved it. _

As soon as Nikki lifted the cereal spoon to her mouth, Will swept out the door, taking Chiyoh’s razor-sharp knife with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, chapter two is here! And so is Bedelia, pretentious metaphors and all. The fight scene with Chiyoh is taken almost directly from the movie scene with Vernita. I hope you enjoyed the latest installment <3


	3. He Didn’t Take The Time To Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months ago, Will was rehearsing his wedding when he received an unwelcome guest. Now, he arrives in Quantico to speak to Jack Crawford, with every intention of causing havoc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More glimpses into Will’s past here.  
> I hope you enjoy!

**_Six months earlier:_ **

Will Graham wrapped an arm around Molly Foster’s waist, fingertips running over the white lace of her dress. She leaned into his touch almost subconsciously as they listened to the Reverend speak. They had been at the rehearsal for what felt like forever, the Florida morning giving way to afternoon humidity. Abigail had already asked to be excused, went off to badger the organ player, while Wally stood obediently by his mother’s side. 

The Reverend turned his stare to Will. “When I say: ‘you may kiss the bride,’ kiss the bride. But don't stick your tongue in her mouth. It might be funny to your friends but it would be embarrassing to her parents.” Will felt Molly’s back vibrate with laughter. A few other guests chuckled good-naturedly. 

“We'll try to restrain ourselves,” Molly smiled over at Will and he felt his heart leap up in his chest. He had gotten used to her soft sweaters and messy hair, so whenever he saw her in the wedding dress, it was a wonderful shock. Even better, however, was knowing that she was going to be married to  _ him.  _ Will had never felt so lucky. “Is that all?”

The Reverend looked around at the people gathered. The happy couple, the bride’s family, and a various assortment of friends. Abigail giggled, messing with the keys of the organ. That seemed to jog the memory of Molly’s mother. 

“Oh yes, the seating arrangements.” 

Molly must’ve felt Will tense, because she brought her hand up to rest of his, lacing their fingers together reassuringly. He tried to steady his breaths. Nobody here knew; they couldn’t. 

“Thank you, thank you.” The Reverend nodded along to his own words. “Now, the groom hasn’t got anybody coming, and the bride’s got too many people coming, so I don’t see a problem with the groom's side sharing the bride's side. Do you?”

Molly’s family all shook their heads, but her father turned to Will with a subtle frown on his face. “No problem at all, Reverend. But Mr. Graham, are you sure there’s nobody that could come? Sign of good faith and all?” 

Will was aware, mostly through stalking social media, that Molly’s last wedding had no shortage of people attending. It was probably for the best Will didn’t send out any wedding invitations though. He doubted the FBI, a married couple with dubious morals, and a cannibalistic serial killer were proper wedding guests. “I don’t really have anybody, save for Molly and my friends.” 

Molly’s mother piped up this time. “No family?”

Will pulled Molly closer. He remembered meeting her family for the first time, expecting to be rebuffed. Instead, Molly’s siblings had made a joke about how the two of them seemed attached at the hip, and her parents asked him what he did for a living, and soon it was like he was already a part of their lives. “I’m working on changing that.” He glanced at Molly only to find her already looking at him. They both smiled.

“Oh my god they’re like a high school couple,” muttered one of two flower girls—the daughter of Molly’s older sister, Harmony. The second girl responded: “ _ Goo-goo eyes  _ and all.” The two were promptly hushed by Harmony.

Will held back his laughter, and he could see the amusement in Molly’s face too. Harmony turned to her parents. “We’re all the family Will is going to need.” Something in her words rattled Will’s brain, shaking a distant memory loose from where it stuck to his subconscious. It drifted to the forefront of his thoughts until a heavy weight settled in his chest.  _ Every family loves differently.  _ Ink crowded his vision, and he began to feel nauseous. 

“Hey,” he murmured, cupping Molly’s jaw gently with his hand.“I’m not feeling very well, so I’m just gonna go outside, get some air.” Molly nodded, and he responded with a kiss. Her lips were soft, and he thought he could taste pomegranate chapstick. When he pulled away, there was a definite twinge of loss, a pang in his heart. Although that didn’t make any sense considering they were going to be married tomorrow. 

Will pushed open the doors of the chapel, taking in a grateful breath of air. Florida was nice, although he had heard Molly’s family complaining about the humidity. Will loved it, loved the distant smell of sea wherever he went and the orange tree that grew in Molly’s backyard. Most of all, he loved being here, with Molly and Walter and Abigail. The two kids were cautious around each other at first, both shy, but it wasn’t long before they bonded over dogs and baseball and fly fishing. Together, they molded their family, turning puzzle pieces around until they fit.

Will was just happy everything turned out alright in the end. Standing on the outside steps of the chapel, he wished he could go back and tell his past self that everything would be fine. Actually, if he could go back in time, he would tell himself to stay as far away from Hannibal Lecter as humanly possible.

But Will seemed to have enough trouble with that as it was, because as soon as he turned his head, Hannibal was there, leaning against the chapel wall. He was dressed in an unusually demure suit, such a dark red that it looked almost black, with no tie. Hannibal regarded Will with an expression closer to that of an aloof cat. Like he hadn’t expected Will to be there but was still begrudgingly satisfied that he was. At first, Will thought he was hallucinating, but then Hannibal spoke and all doubts flew out the window. 

“Hello, Will.” 

Will’s confusion at Hannibal’s presence was soon outweighed by a different, primal fear. Not for himself, but for the people past those doors, who had already treated Will like family. And he repaid them by leading a serial killer to their doorsteps. “How did you find me?” He hissed, turning around to face Hannibal completely, while still standing in front of the doors. He prayed to God that Molly, or worse, Abigail wouldn’t come outside looking for him.

“How does a salmon find its way back to the place it was born? How does a wolf find the pack it became separated from?” Hannibal’s eyes glittered like polished stones when he looked at Will. “We are conjoined, Will. No amount of time or distance could change that.”

Will thought he was going to be sick. “What are you doing here?”

“Many things. A few moments ago I was reminiscing on better times—” Will tried not to snort, knowing that  _ better times  _ involved as much blood and eviscerated corpses as possible. “—And now I am looking upon the most radiant groom my eyes have ever seen. Truly, they have done an admirable job of domesticating you.”

Will narrowed his eyes, wishing he had brought some kind of weapon with him. He had stopped carrying a knife around a couple of months ago when Molly caught him hiding one under the pillow.  _ There’s no need for it,  _ she had said. If only she knew.

“Why are you here?”  _ Please don’t pull a business card—please don’t pull a business card—please don’t—  _ Will could fight Hannibal off with his hands if necessary. Throw him against the wall, land a few good punches, get the scalpel out of his sleeves. Incapacitate him enough to call Abigail, who undoubtedly had a phone on her.

Hannibal must’ve sensed Will’s train of thought because he sighed. “I suppose you could say this is my last look.” 

“Are you going to be polite?”

The wry smile on Hannibal’s lips reminded Will of an era long gone, when they were both together. The last time he had seen that smile, it was standing, blood-soaked, over a dead body. “Have you known me to be anything but? I promise I won’t be sadistic, if that will soothe your worries.”

“I’m sorry if it doesn’t. Have you seen Molly?”

“The bride?”

Will felt a chill run through him. “Yes.” 

“Then I saw her. Like Persephone to Hades, she is springtime wedding herself to the king of death and underground rotting things.” Hannibal paused, his words dripping with poison. “I like her hair. Blonde.” 

Will did not miss the implications. “You promised.” He sounded tense even to his own ears, although Hannibal had been nothing but calm and collected. 

“Pointing out facts isn’t cruelty, my dear Will. But you’re right. What does your Persephone do for a living?” 

Will took a deep breath, trying to loosen the tightness in his chest. “She owns a dress store here in Sugarloaf Keys.”

“Fabric lover, I see.”

“She’s fond of making people happy.”

“Aren’t we all. And what are you doing to pass your time these days? I suppose the FBI bought your silence with a high enough sum.” Hannibal couldn’t have sounded more annoyed, although Will could barely hear it under the veneer of politeness. Although he wasn’t wrong about the ‘relief check’ sent his way after he came back to America with full immunity.

“I work fixing boat motors.”

“And is that a career you find fulfilling?”

“Yeah, I like it a lot. I get to live by the water, breathe by the water, make myself useful. It’s going to be a great environment for my family.”

For the first time, anger flashed in Hannibal's eyes. “As opposed to traveling Europe, dining on human beings, and bathing yourself in blood next to the only person who ever truly understood you?”

_ Molly understands me fine,  _ Will wanted to say, but didn’t. “ _ Precisely _ , Hannibal. I’m glad you can see it that way.” 

Hannibal’s nostrils flared, and for a second, Will thought he might ask about Abigail. But instead, he pushed himself off the wall and stood upright, the sun shining behind him. He looked like the Devil himself approaching, a silhouette cast from Hell and molded in light. Will could remember a distant time where the sight of Hannibal did not set him on edge but instead made him feel at home. That time was long gone. 

“I would like to meet your Persephone. I happen to be particular as to whom you marry.” 

Will watched him cautiously. “You aren’t upset.”

Hannibal smiled, looking almost sad. Any annoyance he might’ve had faded away, leaving a face that looked undeniably human. “No, Will. I made my peace with you eventually, sometime in the two years after you left. Our bond transcends mortality, but I always want the best for you. So if she is the one you choose, I won’t interfere.” 

Will could hardly believe it. And yet, looking in Hannibal’s eyes, he knew he had to be hearing the truth. “Thank you, Hannibal. That means a lot to me.” 

“I’ve always liked when you called me by my first name.” Hannibal’s voice was no longer sharpened steel, but sweet honey. Will didn’t know he could feel so relieved. Everything was fine. He had his fiancée, his children. Even Hannibal was here. Although Will was thankful he left, he also knew a small part of him would never be complete without Hannibal. He finally let himself breathe, relaxing into the happy ending he had finally achieved. 

“So,” Will chuckled under his breath at how mundane he sounded. “How’s it been?” 

“Just the regular. You know, I had the loveliest dream about you…” 

Right then, the doors opened, and Will had one moment to regain his composure. Molly looked outside, grinning when she saw Will. “Oh, there’s Molly,” Will said warningly, glancing at Hannibal expecting to find even the slightest hint of jealousy. None. So he was telling the truth after all. 

Molly looked between him and Hannibal. “Who’s this?” She didn’t sound suspicious in the slightest. It was one of the reasons Will had fallen in love with her so quickly; she didn’t trouble herself with the grisly details of his past, even going so far to forbid Wally from the Tattle Crime subscription he asked for Christmas.  _ Too violent,  _ she had said, but Will knew the truth and adored her for protecting him like that.

Will opened his mouth to speak but Hannibal cut him off. “I’m one of Will’s old colleagues. You must be Miss Foster. Will has spoken frequently of you.” 

Molly laughed, looking delighted. “All good things I hope.” And then to Will, a teasing lilt to her voice, “I thought you told me nobody could attend on your side.” 

Hannibal glanced at Will. “Yes, Will’s side has always been a bit lonely. But there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” 

“So you’re staying for the wedding? It’s tomorrow, actually. This is a rehearsal.” Molly pushed the door open, ushering them in. Hannibal hovered by the entrance. If Will didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he looked nervous. Of course, a wanted criminal should have cause to be nervous in a room full of people. Will wouldn’t call the police, but he couldn’t speak for someone else if they recognized Hannibal. 

Hannibal looked at Molly’s dress, and Will’s tuxedo. A curious look came over him.“I admit, I’ve never heard of a wedding dress rehearsal. Isn’t it bad luck to see the bride in her wedding dress?” 

Will shrugged, reached out with his hand to find Molly’s already waiting. He intertwined their fingers silently, like it was second nature. “I guess we believe in living dangerously,” he stated. It was said like a challenge, but Hannibal’s face was nothing but placid.  _ We aren’t in danger,  _ Will reminded himself. But still, he was glad Abigail was out of sight, somewhere in one of the back rooms of the chapel. 

“Hey, we’re gonna run through this one more time and then call it a day,” called the Reverend. Molly started to walk towards the group of people, Will in tow, but then stopped abruptly. “Oh my God, what am I thinking?” She turned to Hannibal. “You should be Will’s best man. For just the rehearsal I guess, but for the wedding too if you want. It was going to be my son, but this is much more fitting....” 

Hannibal froze up, and Will echoed the movement. Finding out Hannibal was happy for him was one miracle, he didn’t want to push his luck by having Hannibal stand next to him as he married Molly. Not when both of them knew it should’ve been Will and Hannibal at the altar. Might’ve been, in some alternate future where Will didn’t have most of his moral compass still intact.

“Molly, that’s not exactly his cup of tea. I think he’d be more comfortable with the rest of the guests.” 

Molly looked confused. “Really?”

Hannibal pursed his lips. “I’m afraid so. But I would be very happy to attend the wedding.”

“Come on, lovebirds.” The Reverend called them once more. Molly and Will began to slowly walk to their positions, but Hannibal remained where he was. “I don’t suppose I could excuse myself?” 

“No, no, of course. Go right ahead. But it was a pleasure to meet you, Mr….” 

Hannibal smiled. “Fell. Roman Fell.” He stepped forward, towards Will, and Will instinctively let go of Molly’s hand. His heart jumped up to his throat when Hannibal pressed his lips to Will’s cheekbone, right over a small scar. Will couldn’t even remember where he had gotten it. “I am sorry,” he whispered in Will’s ear, quiet enough for Molly not to hear. “The teacup never did come together for us two.” And with that, he turned and walked out the doors, looking once again like a dark shadow. 

Will could feel himself trembling. He pushed down his unease to the best of his ability. Hannibal had left. He didn’t harm anyone. Everything was fine. Molly took his hand again, reached up to brush a curl of hair from his forehead. 

“Tomorrow morning, you’ll be my husband,” she murmured, and he kissed her one last time before heading up to the altar. His chest felt tight, for a reason he couldn’t quite name. He began counting down the seconds until Molly went down the aisle in his head.

_ One… _ the guests took their places. Soft organ music started playing. Will took a deep breath, looking forward to tomorrow, when all of this would be real. Wally stood off to the side on Will’s side. He looked at Will and grinned. Will stuck his tongue out and Wally giggled. 

__ _ Two… _ Molly walked down the aisle on her father’s arm, her sister, her best friend, and Abigail, trailing behind her. She locked eyes with Will. Only a few more steps and she would be in front of him. His heart fluttered. 

__ _ Three… _ The doors flew open with a boom, a figure striding in. A pause of confusion. Then a scream when someone saw what he was holding. Will had one moment of clarity when he saw the face of the Red Dragon, and then freezing cold fear flooded his veins. Dolarhyde raised his gun, aimed for the first guest in sight, Molly’s mother. 

__ _ Bang bang.  _

* * *

**_Present day:_ **

Will reclined in the seat, getting as comfortable as he could in the airplane. At first, he didn’t want to fly, didn’t want to trap his legs like they had been trapped for months. But in the end, he decided it was better to deal with a short flight to Virginia than to suffer another drive like the one he had taken to Arkansas in order to take care of Chiyoh. He sighed, rubbing his fingertips over the small cuts marring his face. They healed surprisingly quickly, so with good luck, Jack wouldn’t suspect anything.

Will flagged the flight attendant down for a drink, ordered a scotch on ice. He needed a strong drink after that scuffle. Chiyoh had put up a good fight, but not quite good enough to stay alive. She was already living under the radar, so unless the daughter snitched—which he doubted would happen—Will should be good to go. By the time police traced everything back to him, he would be long gone.

He accepted the drink with a nod and a thank you, unfolding the little seat table. Will pulled a notebook and pencil out of his backpack, sparing a glance at the old couple sitting next to him to make sure they were sleeping. Opening it up to the first page, Will took a sip of his scotch with the hand that wasn’t holding the pencil and began to write.

A list, short and sweet. He could remember Molly at her desk, scribbling on a piece of paper, fabric designs scattered around her. Will always asked her what she was doing.  _ Making a list,  _ she had told him.  _ It makes things easier, gives me a goal and a path to get there.  _ Back then, Will had said something about just going out there and doing what needed to be done, and she laughed in response.  _ It's not about that, it's about taking things one step at a time.  _

So one by one, he wrote out his list, only five names: 

  1. Chiyoh



The assistant. She helped Hannibal organize the massacre, and managed to get away with her family intact. Guilty. Will crossed out her name, a strong line of graphite hat threatened to rip the paper. 

2\. Freddie Lounds

The instigator. Freddie was the one who leaked Will’s wedding to the press, the one who provoked Dolarhyde in the papers. She might not have pulled the trigger, but she had thrown the lure into the water. Guilty. 

3\. Francis Dolarhyde

The killer. He was the one who walked into the church with his gun raised. He was the one who blew Molly’s head off. He was the one who looked Will dead in the eyes while he pressed the barrel of the gun to Wally’s head and pulled the trigger. And he was going to pay. Guilty.

4\. Bedelia du Maurier

The manipulator. Will understood now, why he had jumped onto that nurse when he first woke up—because of some primal instinct to hurt, a memory buried deep in his mind. He remembered Bedelia there, by his hospital bed, on the phone. She had helped Hannibal, her voice like spun silk as she wove a web of lies around them both. God, he despised her. Guilty.

5\. HANNIBAL LECTER

Will was going to find  _ him,  _ he was going to kill  _ him,  _ and he was going to get his revenge. No matter what it took, no matter how much blood was spilled. By destroying all the good left in Will’s life, Hannibal had unleashed a force so powerful it could twist death itself. Will would lay a path of destruction in his wake, and when he finally looked Hannibal in the eyes, it would be as his final form, the wrathful being he would Become. 

But for now, Will Graham drained the last of his glass, slipped his notebook back into his backpack, and tried to sleep, eyes locked on the clouds drifting by. So many lives below him, going about their daily lives, unaware of the angel in their midst, flying right above them. Headed right for the FBI.

* * *

“Will.” Jack blinked multiple times, like he hadn't quite expected to see him. Granted, nobody had. As soon as Will showed up, he was greeted with a variety of expressions, ranging from confused to outright hostile. It didn’t faze him; he was under Jack Crawford’s protection and nobody could do anything about it. A lifetime ago, he had conspired with Jack against Hannibal, only to betray the FBI and run. Now, two years after coming back, he stood in the very same office like nothing had changed.

“I’ve decided to take you up on your offer, Jack.” Will forced himself to look away, putting on the air of a man deep in grief. “I just...I needed some time to pack up the house. Say goodbye.” 

Jack nodded understandingly. His own experience with the death of a loved one would make him more sympathetic to Will. “It’s no problem. I’ll get you a visitor permit as soon as possible. And during the week you were gone, we’ve set up a full manhunt for this psycho, with pictures, boards, and a full team. You won’t be working directly with most of them, since—”

“Since nobody really trusts me. Got it.” Jack opened his mouth to protest but Will cut him off. “It doesn’t matter, Jack. I couldn’t care less what the general population thinks of me, as long as we can bring Dolarhyde down.” Going against the law to catch Dolarhyde would be foolish, and Will was anything but. He needed to play it safe for now. 

Jack nodded. “In that case, I hope you won’t mind working with an old friend.” 

As if summoned by his words, the door to his office opened and Alana Bloom walked in, short hair meticulously curled, red lips pursed into a frown. Each step she took was sharp, measured. She had changed more than he would’ve thought was possible. At first, she didn’t notice Will, her focus completely on Jack. But when she did, her eyes betrayed no surprise, steely calm. 

“Hello,” she said to Will, before turning her attention back to Jack. Will noticed the way her whole body tensed up, like she was awaiting an attack.

“Nice to see you too, Alana.” Will rolled his eyes when she jumped to face him. “What are you doing here?”

Alana clasped her hands together, and he couldn’t help but notice the shine of a wedding band on one of her fingers. “I’m here because if Hannibal was involved in the Wedding Chapel Massacre, then we’re all in danger.” 

“Hannibal  _ wasn’t  _ involved,” Will said through gritted teeth. He needed to keep the focus away from Hannibal until the rest of his list was checked off. “Aren’t we working on catching Dolarhyde?”

“Find him, and he’ll lead us to the Chesapeake Ripper. And I’m sorry if I don’t particularly believe you.” 

Will raised an eyebrow at the acidity in her voice. “I thought we had parted on good terms. Change of heart?” 

“We had.” Alana took a deep breath, reworking her words. “I’m sorry, you don’t deserve me snapping at you. It really is good to see you, but this case is personal for all of us, and forgive me when I say you’re not at your most stable, Will.”

Will scoffed. “I wasn’t at my most stable when I worked as a profiler but that didn’t stop either of you.” Jack and Alana had the decency to look ashamed. He let his words sink in before continuing. “Honestly? I couldn’t care less about the past. All I know is that everyone is gone and Dolarhyde needs to pay. I’ll do whatever it takes to get him. So our motives are united.”

Jack looked pleased. “So they are,” he murmured, standing up from his chair and circling around his desk. Although they were all calm enough, the furrow in Alana’s eyebrows deepened. 

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s brief you on this case. Francis Dolarhyde, works at a film factory, killed two families, one month each. The Leeds and the Jacobis. Then, he somehow got into contact with Hannibal Lecter through a disposable phone. About a week afterward, he bought a gun through the underground market and took himself a plane to Florida. How the man was able to fly with a face that recognizable is beyond me. We don’t know where he’s been in the last few months, but there was another family, the Shermans, on the last full moon, in New Mexico.”

Will nodded along, trying to pretend like he was listening. “Alright. I’m game, on one condition.” Jack and Alana turned to face him. “I get to bring him in.” 

A sharp inhale from Alana. “What exactly does  _ bringing him in  _ entail?” Clever girl. She knew Will well enough to be a possible threat. 

Will did his best to deflect. “I’m not going to kill him, if that’s what you’re worried about. But if he fights back, then I can’t be held accountable for a few scrapes…” 

“You can’t be serious—” 

Jack waved Alana off. “It doesn’t matter what happens, as long as the law gets him in the end.” Next, he addressed Will directly. “Before, you refused to even help profile Dolarhyde.”

“And it cost me everything,” Will said. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to catch him, no questions asked.” He was resolute, and Jack saw absolutely no problem in that. Alana would be more difficult to manipulate. 

“Will…” her voice had gone soft, but with the same steel edge underneath. “It’s not necessary to use this case as a method of closure or revenge. I’m not sure this is healthy for you.” She reached out towards him, but as soon as her hand brushed his arm, he batted it away, sudden anger lighting up his eyes. 

“What’s not necessary is you trying to psychoanalyze me. I told you, I’m  _ fine.  _ The sooner Dolarhyde is behind bars, the better. This isn’t a plot for revenge, this is me doing what I should’ve done when Jack came to me before the wedding.”

“Alana,” Jack cautioned. “Drop it. We need to focus on the case.”

She ignored him. “You can back out. I don’t want to feel responsible when you step too much into the darkness and don’t know how to get out.” Something in the way she spoke made the emotions Will was trying to suppress rear up. He turned on her with a vicious glare, all politeness gone in an instant. A snarl twisted his lips. 

“You don’t know  _ anything,  _ not one goddamn thing.” His voice climbed up into a yell. “You have your wife, your son, your  _ future.  _ And you still don’t know to leave it alone. You don’t know anything about me. You escaped Hannibal with everything intact. I got stabbed into a coma after watching my family die in front of me. ” All of his bottled up feelings were spilling out. Will felt like his bones were too big for his body, burning red-hot with fury. 

“Will,” Jack snapped. “Back off.” 

Will seemed to realize he was yelling and retreated back into himself, any presence he might’ve had vanishing. The entire time, Alana hadn’t even flinched. She started him down, unmoving. They all went silent. Then, Jack sighed. “Will, go get some rest, calm down. Tomorrow we’ll start tracking Dolarhyde’s footsteps. Alana, Will’s choice to work Dolarhyde’s case is completely his. We’re catching the Red Dragon, no matter what we have to do.”

“I’m glad we’re in agreement,” Will said curtly before breezing out of the office, the darkness he had brought into the room leaving with him as well. Alana and Jack were left alone. Before Alana could say something like  _ I told you so,  _ Jack left as well. 

* * *

Three knocks on his hotel room door, quick and light. Will guessed it was Alana, and proved himself right when he opened the door. He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a bottle of wine up before he could. Alana tilted her head, and her hopeful smile showed a hint of who she used to be. 

“I come in peace. With drinks.” 

Will chuckled, moving aside to let her in. Whoever said money couldn’t solve problems obviously hadn’t tried alcohol. Alana looked so out of place with her bright, expensive clothes against the backdrop of a cheap hotel. The room wasn’t the best: the carpet was the color of rotting grass, the television played three channels, two of which were news, and the AC oscillated between sweltering heat and freezing cold. But it was peaceful, and Will liked it. “I only have mugs.” 

“That’s fine.” Neither of them quite knew what to say. Alana set the bottle down on the counter, rummaged around in the small cabinet containing sugar packets and instant coffee mix. She emerged with two white mugs. “How have you been?” 

“How do you think?” Will watched her pop the cork open from the edge of his bed. Alana poured their wine, handing Will the mug that wasn’t chipped. She looked directly at him for the first time, and he wanted to tear the pity from her eyes. He tilted his head back, stared up into the lamp until black fuzzy dots swam across his vision, then wet his lips and took a sip of the drink. “I don’t know. Everything feels like a nightmare.”

“Like we’ll wake up any moment and be back where we were years ago? With me screwing Hannibal and you trying to kill him?” Alana’s voice was as dry as sandpaper, and Will barked out a laugh. 

“Believe it or not, those were simpler times,” he said. Back then, he could tell right and wrong apart. Hannibal was bad. Jack and Alana and the FBI were good. Now, Will couldn’t care less about morality. There was no side he was on other than death. “Before I confessed to Hannibal I didn’t kill Freddie and we ran away and started this whole mess.”

Alana took a sip of the wine, red lipstick smudging the lip of the mug. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t start this.” 

Will sighed. “But I did. I baited Lucifer and everyone around me paid the price.” 

“I thought you said Hannibal wasn’t responsible for the massacre.”

“I did.” 

They drank in silence. Alana’s voice suddenly grew soft. “Will…” She laced her fingers together, fiddling with her ring. “Do you think things could’ve been different?”

“Like what?”

“Like if there was something we could have done, to keep everybody alive?” 

So many people. The Minnesota Shrike victims. Abigail’s family. Hannibal’s dinners. Muskrat Farm. Molly, Walter, Abigail. Was there a certain event that started it all? Will chose his words carefully. “I think,” he swallowed. “I think we all could have done something. But I don’t know if it would’ve changed anything. There’s only the future now.” He straightened up. “And I intend to take control of what happens next.”

Instead of looking relieved, Alana only grew more concerned. “Killing Dolarhyde won’t bring your family back.”

Will chuckled darkly, feeling his throat vibrate with the sound.  _ Oh, Alana. Dolarhyde isn’t the only one I’m after.  _ Out loud, he said: “I’m not looking for violence. I’m done with bloodshed.” 

“Then why…”

“Why hunt the Dragon? I guess you could call it responsibility. I want to see him brought to justice. Preferably without pain.”  _ Liar,  _ Molly’s voice hissed to Will. He brushed her off. “I’m sorry for worrying you. Things have been tough. Well, that’s an understatement.” Will was left impressed at his own acting skills. “I don’t even know how to feel. Dolarhyde is the one goal I can let myself focus on.” Will let his voice break, and he turned away from Alana in a perfect imitation of hurt. 

She reached out to him, a hand on his shoulder, and Will had to keep himself from tensing. “I’m so sorry, Will. For everything. I understand now,” she whispered, like she was trying to calm a wild animal. “You don’t deserve to have me questioning your motives all the time. I trust you...and if it was my family...oh my God if it was my family.” 

“How is Margot?” Will turned back to Alana after making sure to disguise his smile. 

Alana’s eyes sparkled with joy. “Better than ever. Morgan’s growing up, too. He’s almost five now.” 

Will made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. “You’re lucky. You and Margot made it out of Muskrat Farm.” That day, on the farm, was forever etched in his memory, impossible to forget, no matter how much he wanted to. 

“So did you and Abigail. And Hannibal, too, despite what you promised me.” Alana’s voice tensed again. “I don’t like to talk about that day. The only good things that happened were you finally coming back to us, and Mason suffocating to death on that eel.”

“I still have nightmares about it,” Will muttered. “I think part of me didn’t escape. I think part of me died when I left him.” 

“You saved Abigail’s life by leaving,” Alana reminded him. Will tried to suppress the memory. That day had changed his entire perception of reality.

“That’s just the thing. We were happy in Europe; Hannibal never would’ve hurt us, we were one family. Pack hunters. But when he found out...what he was going to do, before Mason’s men came…” Will’s mouth dried up. He hated recalling that day. It filled him with a cold dread to rival even that day in the chapel. Alana gave him a reproachful look. 

“ _ Will. _ Hannibal attempted to saw Abigail’s skull open. The only reason he didn’t was because the Vergers got to you first.” 

“But if we had stayed together, then maybe he wouldn’t have, wouldn’t have done what he did.” Before Will realized what was happening, Alana had her arms thrown tightly around him, the empty wine mug sat down on the comforter. She hugged him close, like when he had sprinted back to her and took the plea deal. Hannibal had already left by then, vanished in the snow, assuming Will would take Abigail and return to him where they could make their getaway. But Will hadn’t rejoined Hannibal and by doing that, he had sealed Molly’s fate. 

“I told you, I’m so sorry for everything that happened. But in Muskrat Farm, you made the right choice when you slipped away from him with Abigail. And I know you’re trying to do the right thing now. But you have to promise me that you’ll be careful.” Alana whispered to him. “Be careful. Don’t fall in too deep.” 

“I promise,” Will whispered back. The urge to cry was not a falsehood, and he let a couple of tears fall down his cheeks to further the act. They stayed like that for a while, as Will tried to hold back the barrage of memories. If he remembered Muskrat Farm, he would remember the Wedding Chapel Massacre and Will knew he couldn’t handle that. So he suppressed everything, pushed it to the back of his mind. 

Alana’s phone rang, and she pulled away to pick it up. “Jack? Are you sure?” Her eyes met Will’s and they blazed up with excitement. “We’ll be there immediately.” She hung up.

“They have footage of Dolarhyde traveling in Florida. He’s stopped at a house, resting, I guess. This is our chance to catch him.” 

Will grinned. “Then I guess we’d better get going.” This was great, better than what he had expected. “I’ll meet you outside in five minutes, okay? Thanks for the wine, by the way.”

Alana offered him a thin smile in response. “Just remember your promise.”

“I promise, Alana. No more violence.” 

As soon as the door had closed, Will went to his bedside drawer and took out Chiyoh’s wickedly sharp knife he had hidden there. His lips twisted up.  _ Sorry Alana,  _ he thought.  _ But I know what I have to do.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three, introducing my favorite pair of lesbians. Also, a scene taken directly from the movie Kill Bill Vol. 2. This chapter was los of fun to right, especially the Hannigram interaction.  
> Please tell me what you thought of the installment.  
> More to come ❤️


	4. He Would Always Win The Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Molly get an unwelcome visit from Jack Crawford. Will confronts yet another person on his list, only with a plan of his own.

**_Nine months earlier:_ **

Will was sprawled out on the sofa in Molly’s living room, arm curled around her shoulders, and a bowl of popcorn between them. The fragrant smell of butter wafted up, and once in a while Wally would run by and grab a few kernels before vanishing. A muted action movie played as they scrolled through the television channels, trying to decide what to watch. Molly had declared herself a strong supporter of a sitcom rerun, while Will’s preference skewed towards a French film neither of them had seen before.

“It has subtitles, honey,” Will reminded her. “And I can always translate for you.”

Molly laughed. “Cajun French isn’t at all comparable to the original language. Although I do appreciate your help.” 

“It’s better than episodes we’ve all but memorized.”

“Comfort in familiarity.” 

Will groaned, exasperated. He stole a few pieces of popcorn and tossed them into his mouth one-by-one. Absentmindedly, he took Molly’s hand, running his fingers over her engagement ring. There was only one way to settle this argument. Molly seemed to read his mind, because she smiled, looking to where the children’s bedrooms were. Will took a big breath of air.  _ “Abigail!” _ Only a few seconds after he called did his daughter appear in the doorway of the living room. 

“If this is about the TV, then…”

“Do you have an opinion?” Molly asked, far too used to this particular clash in the Graham-Foster household. 

Abigail pursed her lips, thinking for a moment. “Maybe Dateline?”

Will tried his best not to tense. He shot Abigail a  _ look,  _ and it was only then that she realized what she said and looked sheepish. Once, he saw Wally watching some forensics show and thought he was going to pass out.  _ I guess he learned from you,  _ Molly had chuckled when Will told her about it. If Will had it his way, his children would learn to be different than him, not similar. After that, there were no more programs of that nature allowed on the television.

“Since when do you watch that kind of stuff?” Will shot Abigail a curious glance.

“Some of my friends at work talk about it,” she shrugged. Abigail worked at a movie theatre, sweeping up floors and passing out candy and unlimited-refill soda cups to kids. She got free passes once in a while. “It’s so fake I can’t believe it’s even considered true crime.” Will knew that she would have firsthand knowledge of what that would look like. Then again, so would he. 

“I’d prefer Big Bang Theory over watching overweight detectives scramble around to catch a killer with minimal evidence,” said Will dryly. Unbeknownst to him, Wally had crept back into the living room for more popcorn. 

“Isn’t that what you used to do, dad?” It wasn’t the  _ dad  _ bit that had caught Will off-guard; the development was a pleasant surprise to everyone. But the casual way Wally would talk about Will’s past was always startling, considering how hard Will worked to escape it. He sighed, shifting around on the couch. Abigail perched on the armrest, while Wally took a huge handful of popcorn, accidentally dropping one on the carpet. A tiny dog with a comically large underbite ran over to sniff it. 

Before Will could respond, the doorbell rang. Molly frowned. “At this hour?” It was well into the evening, and they had just settled in for Friday movie night. But their visitor seemed to have other ideas, because the doorbell rang again. And again. Abigail made a sound of annoyance.

“Okay, okay. I’ll get it.” She opened the door, and her muttering was quickly cut off. When she went silent, a bolt of fear flooded Will. It was second nature to assume the worst now. But when Will pushed himself up off the couch and padded over to the door, he saw Abigail was perfectly fine, just frozen in place, and Jack Crawford was standing on his doorstep with a manilla file and a grimace. 

Will was about to slam the door in his face, but then Molly came up behind him. “Who’s this?” 

“This,” Will gestured to the man waiting patiently on their deck. “Is my old boss.”

“Jack Crawford, FBI. May I come in?” 

Wally’s eyes had gone wide with awe when Jack showed his badge, and Abigail frowned, trying to guide him away from the door. She whispered something to him, and the two slipped away. Will’s discomfort was temporarily broken by relief. He reminded himself to say thank you to Abigail later, for keeping Wally away. Molly seemed to sense the tension, because she took on a face of forced politeness and said:

“It’s kind of late right now, Mr. Crawford. Could you come back another time?”

Jack shook his head. “No can do. I’m not in town for very long and I’m afraid I have to talk to Will.” He held up the folder, which looked orange in the porch light. Will’s shoulders tensed up. A drawn-out moment of silence passed, only broken by the buzzing of cicadas. 

“Fine.” Will all but jumped out of the house. “Not inside. And make it quick.”

“Thank you,” said Jack. Molly didn’t look the least bit happy; she gave Will one more concerned look before closing the door. She left the porch light on. 

Will walked over to the table and chairs set up by the wooden railing, overlooking the forest in the distance. He had always liked how secluded the house was. After he and Molly first started seeing each other, he had spent more and more time there until he was all but moved in. Some retired couple was looking to buy his apartment, and after the wedding, the purchase would be finalized. Everything was working out; he told Jack as much.

“Everything is working out, you know.”

“This is important, Will.” Jack sat down in one chair, gesturing for Will to follow. He folded his arms on the table. “Lives are at stake.”   
“There are other profilers, ones that are actually on the FBI’s payroll.”

“Not like you there aren’t.”

Will could easily recall how his last case had gone. It had started in his cell in Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane and ended in Muskrat Farm, more than a year ago. He had no desire to immerse himself into the mind of a killer again. Not when it had gone so disastrously last time.  _ Although,  _ a dry voice in his mind whispered,  _ you don’t have a chance of falling in love with this one.  _

Will sighed. “Let’s have it. What’s the file?”

“Two families dead: Leeds and Jacobi, who were found yesterday. You’ve read about them?”

Despite himself, Will answered. “I know enough. Whole households slaughtered, similar circumstances.”

“Not similar. The  _ same.  _ They call him the Tooth Fairy.”

“Him?”

“The DNA checks out. We don’t have any fingerprints on him yet, but forensics is working on it.”

“So what do you need me for?”

Jack cleared his throat, expression unreadable in the dim light. He opened the folder, spread out a series of pictures. Will was suddenly jarred by the sight of the bodies. It took him back to a time the crime scene wasn’t viewed through neatly laminated photographs, when it was all laid out in front of him like a gory jigsaw puzzle, a design for him to solve. 

“We need you to profile the Tooth Fairy. The freak seems to be in sync with the moon and it’s not long until we think he’ll kill again. You were the best of the best, and that’s not flattery talking. I don’t know anyone else who would be able to track him down like you.” 

A chill traveled down Will’s spine when he looked at the pictures spread out on the table. A woman, shards of glass on her eyes. Children, shot in their beds. Husband, with his throat slit. It made him think of his own family, so similar to the Leeds and Jacobis. What would he do if they were gone? He stared down at the table for a while, focusing on the shadow a moth made as it perched on the light. Finally, he spoke.

“No.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You remember better than most what looking into the minds of killers did to me. I have a family to think about now.”

Jack leaned back in the chair, studying Will intently. “Does this have to do with what happened in Europe?”

Will bit down on his cheek hard enough to draw blood. The coppery taste flooded his mouth. “Don’t start, Jack.”

“So it is Hannibal?”

Will scoffed, refusing to meet Jack’s searching eyes. “Why does everyone always assume that?”

“Because it’s always been him.” Jack’s voice was gravelly, like the cicada song playing in the forest. “He’s the reason you lost yourself the first time. He’s the reason you ran. He’s the reason you came back. Everything of importance that happened in your life happened because of Hannibal Lecter.”

“I’ve finally gotten past his influence.” Will spoke sharply, almost clipped. His heart pounded in his chest. “Do you know how long it took, cleaning out every bit of black sludge hiding around in my mind? Cutting my past away, every reminder of his presence? I made it out alive, with a daughter, with my body intact. I’m not gonna go dragging myself back into the mindset of a murderer just because you believe I’m the only one that can do it.”

“Will—”

“Find someone else.” Will rose from his chair with a scrape. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a family to get back to.” He didn’t stay around long enough to hear Jack’s response, only closed and locked the door. He flicked the porch light off and stayed there until he heard the thud of defeated footsteps walking away, and a car engine starting. Once he was sure Jack was gone, Will turned to find Molly sitting on the couch, the French movie selected and paused on the television.

“You should have gone with him. So you wouldn’t blame yourself when you read the paper.” She reached out to Will, and he joined her on the couch. He drew the blanket currently draped across the armrest over them. 

“I said no to Jack because I want to stay here. With you, with the kids. I want to protect my family.” 

“You wouldn’t be a bad father if you left. It’s only for a little bit.”

Will shook his head, resolute. “I would be different when I came back.”

“Nothing is going to happen to us, Will. We’ll still be the same” 

Will shivered. Even though all realistic chances of threats were gone, the fear still lived with him, intrinsically woven into his bones. As long as Molly was with him, there was always the slightest chance of danger. “It doesn’t matter. My place is here, with you.” Before Molly could respond, he placed his hand on the back of her neck and kissed her. He leaned forward so that their foreheads touched. “I love you,” he whispered. “And I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Molly pressed their lips together again, her voice barely more than a whisper when she pulled away. “I promise.” Before Will could lean in again, she tilted her head away. “Who’s Hannibal?” 

Will’s blood ran cold, and it took all of his willpower not to startle at the name. Any mention of Hannibal coming from Molly’s mouth felt wrong, unnatural. He scrambled for something to say, not wanting to hesitate too much. “Nobody.”

“He doesn’t sound like a nobody.” Molly wasn’t an insecure woman, Will knew. But he would rather shoot himself in the foot than tell her how the person who came before her changed Will’s life so irreparably that it would never be completely normal again. Molly was the best thing that ever happened to him. Hannibal was the worst. Will never wanted to think of the man again, much less discuss him with his fiancée. 

“It was all a long time ago. It doesn’t matter now. He hasn’t been in my life for a long time, and he’ll never be again.” This time, when Will leaned in, Molly kissed him back eagerly. Everything else faded away when he was with her. He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, and then to her jaw. It felt so natural, easier than breathing. Even their heartbeats were in perfect sync.

Molly giggled. “The  _ movie, _ hotshot.” Oh right. The TV was still on, the opening scene frozen on the screen.

“It can wait.”

Molly’s fingers trailed over Will’s jaw. “Movie first. Then upstairs.” 

“Consider it done.” He fumbled for the remote and then pressed play. The opening logo played. Molly shifted around on the couch until she was sitting upright again, curled up against Will. 

Will looked at her, how her smile glowed brighter than the stars in the sky, eyes so alive with love. Their wedding was only in three months, and he had never looked forward to anything as much as he did that day. He was so lucky to have Molly in his life, and he wouldn’t leave her, no matter what Jack said.

“I can’t wait to spend my entire life with you,” he murmured. 

Molly beamed at him, as beautiful as always. “It’s gonna be great.”

Will knew he made the right choice by staying. Everything would be fine. 

* * *

**_Present day:_ **

The undercover FBI van had been parked in place for over two hours and Will was going to lose his fucking mind. Not even the cooler of dry ice placed in the back of the graffitied vehicle could keep the sweat from soaking through his shirt. He wished he could turn the AC on, but Jack had made it clear that the van had to look unoccupied. Alana was also sweating, although she had shed her blazer. Jack crouched down in the front seat with a grim look on his face, occasionally turning to signal the five armed agents in the very back. 

Traffic cameras had identified Francis Dolarhyde traveling down the nearest freeway, and further probing showed security footage of him at a convenience store. A scan of all recorded property in the area showed a house owned by Franklyn Froideveaux.

“And why is that noteworthy?” Will had asked Jack as they drove down the very same road. 

“Franklyn Froideveaux was a patient in Lecter’s care, who died before you were even in prison. The house was purchased three years ago. Assuming our target could be working with Lecter, the property is worth watching.” Watch it they did, staring through one-way windows at the small brick establishment in the middle of nowhere. Although they didn’t see anyone come or go, about an hour into their stakeout, someone inside shifted the curtains and turned on a lamp. 

Will was coiled up by one of the passenger windows, his eyes not leaving the window where they had seen Dolarhyde move. He thought he was going insane with all the bottled up energy woven through his muscles. The murderer of his fiancée was behind that flimsy door, and all they were doing was  _ sitting there.  _ Just when Will reached the point of being ready to leap out of the window, Jack finally nodded. 

“Okay, I think it’s clear. If we move now, we can catch him by surprise.” The agents, who had been eerily silent thus far, sat up. Will shot Jack a look of warning, reminding him of their deal. Jack sighed. “Graham goes in first.” Five pairs of hostile eyes turned on Will. Not surprising; they barely tried to hide their distrust of him when he first climbed in the van. One of them even went so far to hiss  _ ‘psycho’  _ at Will when he passed by. 

The very same woman gave Jack an incredulous look. “Sir, he has no official field training. It’s possible he may let the target escape.” She sneered at Will. “And can we even trust him to get the job done?”

“We can trust him plenty—” Jack tried to say, but was interrupted by Will, who turned on her with anger rolling over his expression. 

“Listen here, Miss  _ Field Agent _ . I’ve seen things that you can’t even hope to imagine. I didn’t survive being gutted after seeing my family die just to have a stuck-up cocksucker like you...” Will heard Alana say his name. He ignored her. “...try and keep me from arresting the man that killed them.” The van was silent. Will turned back around, only to hear the agent speak, in a tone that was as sharp as the knife Will had in the lining of his jacket, which he had taken off. 

“If anything,  _ you’re  _ the cocksucker.” This time, the reaction was immediate. 

Jack was the first to speak. “Agent Harrison,  _ stand down.  _ You say another word and you won’t see anything past a stack of paperwork for the next month.” 

“Ardelia,” muttered one of the other agents, not making eye-contact with Will. “Shut it.” 

Ardelia twisted to face the curly-haired guy trying to quiet her. “You’re not backing me up on this, Pym?”

Jack turned his glare to the agent. “Connor, you graduated academy with honors. You’re a good kid and even better in the field. But if you say one word, I will demote you to filing records.  _ Indefinitely. _ ” 

Ardelia scoffed, crossed her arms over her chest, and fell back against the seat. “Fine. Send the cannibal-fucker in, why don’t you?”

Will ground his teeth together, but didn’t say anything else. He hated how the entire country seemed to know about his dirty laundry. What happened in Europe was supposed to be private, but Freddie Lounds made sure it was anything but. 

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. “Graham leaves the van with agents covering him. Once we get the door open, he goes in first and apprehends Dolarhyde on charges of multiple counts of first-degree murder, conspiracy to murder, and possession of illegal firearms. Throw in evasion of police forces if you really want to get technical. When Will has him, the team will load him up in the van where Alana and I will be waiting, knock him out with a sedative, and haul ass to the nearest max-security prison. Sound good?” 

One by one, every agent nodded. Ardelia shot Will a nasty look before agreeing. Will pulled his jacket back on, feeling the weight of Chiyoh’s knife flat against his ribs. It reassured him, helped him focus on what really mattered. Not petty Agent Harrison and her jibes, just him and Dolarhyde. With a final nod to Alana, Will climbed out of the van, finally breathing fresh air. Crouching down, he circled around to the door. In his peripheral vision, he could see the five figures behind him. 

As Will neared the door, he began to calculate. He had about a minute, maybe two if he was lucky, before the agents came in behind him. By then, Will needed to have finished what he was here to do. Two minutes wouldn't be enough; he needed to divert the fight to another room. The FBI had acquired a semi-accurate floor plan, and Will knew the front door would open up into the dining room, living room, and kitchen–with the upstairs dedicated to two bedrooms and a study. Ground floor windows were easy to break, so Will would somehow have to bring Dolarhyde to the staircase. 

Will’s hand found the gun loaned to him, the handle cold and smooth. He clicked the safety off and cocked it. Before he could hesitate, he shot the lock of the door and shoved it open with a shatter of wood. The first thing he saw was Dolarhyde as he jumped up, the book in his hands falling to the floor with a thunk. Somehow, he looked even wilder than he had in the chapel, eyes burning with a savage fire as he recognized who had found him. 

Will raised his gun, and without hesitation, shot Dolarhyde in the arm. Not a fatal wound by any chance, just enough to startle. Dolarhyde fell back but was quick to regain his composure despite the blood spurting from his arm. He ran at Will, features twisting into a silent roar. Like a bullfighter, Will jumped away but was yanked back by his arm. A fist collided with his jaw, and black flashed behind Will’s eyelids. 

“You're under arrest,” he gasped out. The words he was supposed to say left him. “For being a murderous son of a bitch.” 

Dolarhyde punched him again. His knuckles felt like steel; pain jolted through Will like an electric shock. “Should've killed you when I had the chance.”

Rage burned through Will, and he raised the barrel of his gun to hit Dolarhyde in the temple. The metal made a strange noise when it rebounded off his skull. Will wrenched himself away, knowing his time was up. Without a second thought; he turned and ran up the stairs. He fired a precise warning shot at Dolarhyde, barely grazed his side. That was all it took for Dolarhyde to run after him. 

Will, blinded by fury and slowed by adrenaline, didn't anticipate how quick Dolarhyde would be, or how strong. He certainly didn't expect to be picked up and thrown against the wall behind him. All the air was knocked out of him and he crumbled like a rag doll. Dolarhyde didn't stop, not even when Will raised his arm weakly and pointed the gun right at him. Footsteps sounded below them, and Will realized the agents had made their move. Thinking as fast as he could, Will got back up on his feet, jabbing his elbow against Dolarhyde’s nose with a crack. 

Dolarhyde reacted exactly how Will had expected. Just as Ardelia and the other agents reached the top of the staircase, Dolarhyde threw Will into another room. Will thought he heard something break when he hit the wooden desk. The door to the office study was thrown closed, the long body of a lamp jammed along the doorknob. After his work was done, Dolarhyde turned back to face Will.

Will knew he should feel scared at being isolated in a room with a mass killer. But all he felt was righteous anger. He felt so much bigger than his body, his bones alight with the need for vengeance. Molly. Walter. Everyone. When Will finally ended Dolarhyde’s life, it wouldn't be for his personal benefit, but for those who he had sworn to avenge. An angel with wings of blood and a sword on fire with heaven’s justice. 

Will stumbled to his feet, the pain gone. His eyes met Dolarhyde’s unflinchingly as he pulled the knife out of his coat. “Just you and me now, Toothy.” 

Dolarhyde narrowed his eyes, jaw grinding. “I am the Dragon. Walk away now, while you...while you can.” Again, he stumbled over his speech to avoid the  _ s.  _ Will resisted the urge to mock him for it, keeping his mind trained on his goal.  _ The gun,  _ he thought,  _ where the hell was the gun? _ His heart sank when he realized it was probably outside the study, sprawled near the banister. Damn it. 

Dolarhyde jumped forward, but Will darted to the side, keeping distance between them. Someone hit the door, and the frame rattled with the force. Will tried to get in range for a good punch but changed his mind. He needed to stay on his feet, and Dolarhyde could knock him out quickly. Before Dolarhyde could move again, Will took a page out of Chiyoh’s book and tipped the tall wooden bookshelf onto Dolarhyde. Although he missed, Dolarhyde was still distracted enough for Will’s brain to start moving. 

He had memorized the floor plan in his own time, and if he was correct, then the dumpster was right outside the office window. If he wasn’t right...it would be a long fall to the ground. The window was on the other side of the bookshelf, and the door began to rattle again, the wood splintering. Will was out of time. It was now or never. 

With a yell, Will raised his knife and jumped over the tipped-over shelf towards Dolarhyde. The blade only barely grazed Dolarhyde’s chest before Will got grabbed and whirled around. His back was to the window. Dolarhyde’s fist collided neatly with Will’s jaw again and again, falling into a syncopated rhythm with the door, which looked one good kick away from collapsing despite the lamp. Blood ran in thick red lines down his face, and when Will coughed weakly, he could feel more of it in his throat. 

He made eye-contact with Dolarhyde just when he tried to grab the knife from Will, fumbling with the handle. Will was wearing a vest beneath his shirt, there was no way the knife would go in. So as Dolarhyde grasped the handle, Will angled his body to the right, flipped the knife around, and drove it into the side of his own ribs. Not deep enough to truly wound, but when Will guided Dolarhyde’s hands down, opening up the skin, a spurt of blood shot out. Will spared one glance behind him, catching a glimpse of Dolarhyde’s surprise and the door as it shattered open in the reflection of the glass.

“Gotcha.” Will grinned. He thought he saw Ardelia’s face. Then, he threw his arm around Dolarhyde’s neck and shoved them both out of the second story window.

The funny thing about falling, you feel weightless for those few brief seconds before you collide with the ground. Shattered glass floated next to Will, and it seemed like the blood from the tiny cute on his body was also flying up into the clouds. The knife still jammed into his side ached, although Dolarhyde had long since released his grip on the handle. Speaking of Dolarhyde, the man’s body felt like a lead weight pulling Will towards the ground.

For a single, terrifying second, Will thought he was going to die. 

Then he hit the pile of garbage bags with a metallic thunk. He let out a raspy groan, darkness rushing up behind his eyelids. Pain throbbed through him.  _ It really was a good plan,  _ Will thought weakly.  _ Injure myself in a fight, let Dolarhyde get away. Catch his attention and set up a self-defense claim, easing suspicion.  _

Will’s last thought before he blacked out was that Chiyoh would be proud that her knife was put to good use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ardelia and Connor have my entire heart honestly.  
> The first half of this fic will deal with Molly while the second half is more Hannibal centric....its coming, I promise.  
> This fight scene was a bitch to write, but Will is as sneaky as ever! Also, yes, the flashback was inspired by the Red Dragon book.  
> Please leave a comment, tell me what you think!  
> Until next time <3


	5. He Would Always Laugh And Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year ago Will shared a moment with his family. Now, he leaves the hospital for a second time and visits to an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy!   
> (Don't worry, Dolarhyde is still lurking. He'll appear fairly soon)

**_One year earlier:_ **

Will picked Abigail up from work in his rusty semi-truck, and before he even saw her, he could hear her laughter. It had been a while since either of them laughed. Of course, they smiled at each other every morning when Will made them breakfast in the apartment they had rented out. But true joy never seemed to inhabit the quiet, empty walls of the space they had slowly begun to call home. Neither of them mentioned Europe, never even glancing at the news. It was better not to think of the place they had left behind almost a year ago. 

Abigail, surrounded by two guys and another girl, all about her age, left the movie theatre. Her bag was slung over her shoulder. Within it was her phone, a small bottle of aspirin, chapstick, wallet, and handgun. Will had his own weapon in the glove box of the truck. He rolled down the window and waved, but she had already seen him. After exchanging hugs with her coworkers, she jogged over to him, swinging open the door and jumping in the passenger seat.

“Hey,” she said. 

“How was work?” Will watched her microexpressions carefully. His paranoia hadn’t quite eased since they made their escape.

Abigail fastened her seatbelt as Will began to drive. She looked out the window. “Good. I don’t really know she showings because I was running the concessions, but Eli told me they played Back to the Future like three times.”

“And everything’s fine?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Abigail met Will’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, eyebrows furrowing. Will caught his breath, wondering what he should tell her, what percentage of the truth would cause the least panic. A serial killer was loose up north. An entire family dead. The papers were calling it  _ The Bloodiest Crime Scene Since Murder Husbands In Vienna!  _ He figured Abigail would have seen it. 

“The news was hectic.” Once Will saw the startled look Abigail gave him, he backtracked. “Not—not about us. Another one.”

Almost subconsciously, Abigail’s hand twitched towards her bag. “Close by?”

“No.” A lie; the family was killed in Alabama. 

She turned away again, fingers twisting at the seatbelt. “Then it doesn’t matter.” Her voice had gone flat, exactly how it was in Muskrat Farm. Will pushed the memory from his mind. They drove in silence. Offhandedly, Will wondered if  _ he  _ could be responsible for the murders. But it didn’t seem like  _ his  _ style. The censored pictures printed on thin paper showed art, yes, but more brutal than anything else. Unrefined. This particular killer was still in the middle of his Becoming. With a shiver, Will recalled his own first tableaus, how messy they were. No, this was the work of a novice. 

Somehow, that didn’t help calm him. 

“Is it alright with you if we stop by Molly’s?” He hadn’t had more than an hour or so with his fiancée ever since he proposed a week ago. 

It was one of those days that seemed to glow. Will had spent the previous day making sure everything was in order, checking his pocket with the ring hundreds of times, getting Wally’s blessing, hugging Abigail tight as he tried not to throw up from nerves. He took Molly on an evening walk along the shore, watching the shells shift and disappear into the ocean-soaked sand. They talked about nothing in particular. She told him about how she ended up in Sugarloaf Keys. He told her about his time in New Orleans as a cop. When the sun began to dip below the horizon, he stopped her walking and got down on one knee.

Molly said yes, and Will was ready to soar up into the sunset like one of the seagulls circling above them. Abigail had cheered the loudest when they came back, practically joined at the hip and beaming with love. They set the date as soon as possible. Both Molly and Will knew that time was always precious and always borrowed. 

Abigail brightened immediately. “I wouldn’t dare keep you and your  _ beloved baseball wife  _ apart.” 

Will felt the tips of his ears burn. “Not my wife yet.” 

“She may as well be at this point,” Abigail teased. Molly had made both of them happier, Will noticed.

“So is that a yes to the stop?” 

“Yeah, go for it.” 

“Don’t worry,” Will reassured her as he spun the steering wheel, turning the car around. “I’ll drive you out to town with your friends. Or you can just take one and call it a date.” Will felt proud when he could make Abigail laugh; it made everything seem a little more normal. A father and his stepdaughter bargaining about where to go. 

“Oh my god no.” Abigail shook her head. “Eli’s cute I guess, but I think it’s better to wait until college for a relationship.” Although Abigail’s college plans had been derailed multiple times, she was determined to get a degree after Will and Molly’s wedding. She had been sending out applications, and Will knew it wouldn’t take too long for a university to accept.

“You’re a lot smarter than me when I was your age.”

“I’m a lot smarter than you  _ right now. _ ”

Will opened his mouth to respond, but then remembered he was the one who ran off with a serial killer. The rest of the drive passed in a comfortable silence that was only broken by Abigail’s attempt to tune the car radio to something acceptable. She settled on a country station and hummed along, watching the trees pass by. Florida was nice; the weather reminded Will of Virginia without making him too homesick. Much more humid than France or Italy or Belgium, with a salty tang to the air. 

He could remember first moving to Sugarloaf Keys after weeks of interviews from the FBI. Abigail had avoided most of the hassle, only appearing to help Will’s plea as a hostage.  _ Brainwashed,  _ they had claimed. Alana was the only one who didn’t buy it—watching grimly from the sidelines as Will and Abigail were pardoned and advised to go somewhere far away. It was only six months ago that he had met Molly, but it felt like years.

Some would call the proposal fast, but both Will and Molly knew how precious time was. It was one of the reasons he loved her.

Will drove down the narrow gravel road, pulling into the driveway with practiced ease. Since he had already texted Molly before he went to pick Abigail up, it was no surprise that the door flew open upon their arrival. Wally Foster ran out to meet them, grinning. He threw his arms around Will first, then Abigail, who hugged him back with a soft laugh. 

Molly opened the door for them, greeting Abigail with a familiar crinkle in the corners of her eyes. When she looked at Will, there was no denying the light that sparked in her look. She pressed a quick kiss to his lips, locking the door behind them. Another reason he loved Molly: she prioritized safety above everything else. One night, she had confessed to him that she checked for bumps every day, with the never-ending vigilance of someone who had lost a loved one to cancer. 

Wally tugged on Abigail’s arm, leading her outside to show the little trampoline he had set up in the backyard. Will had been relieved to find that the kids got along great: Abigail had always wanted a little sibling. Once they were gone, Molly turned her attention completely to Will. She looked beautiful, but then, she always did, with the dandelion yellow color of her shirt making her blonde hair seem even brighter. 

“Hey, hotshot,” she said. “How’s life going?”

“Abby and I are looking for some people to buy the apartment. Wedding planning is hell. And boat motors are an easily damaged commodity in Florida.” He chuckled at himself. “That’s about it. Your life is more interesting than mine.” 

Molly fixed him with a fond look. “I find that hard to believe. Although you’re right—”

“I often am.”

“—Wedding planning is hell.”

Will’s hand came to rest on her shoulder. “No one else I’d rather burn with.” 

Molly walked over to the kitchen, turning the tap on and washing her hands. She looked over her shoulder “I’m making dinner. Feel like helping?”

“As long as it’s not steak.” Will tried not to grimace. He no longer trusted any meat he didn’t see cut himself. An unfortunate byproduct of spending extended time with Hannibal. According to a short letter from Alana, Jack had gone full vegetarian. Neither of them could fault him for it. 

Molly smiled. “Chicken. And salad.” 

“Make it a chicken salad.” 

She turned back to the counter. “Why don’t you like meat?”

“Bad run-in with food poisoning.” For a second, he thought she would bring up the time he ate a gratuitous amount of raw cake batter with no regard for salmonella or any foodborne illnesses. But thankfully, the incident seemed to slip her mind. She gestured vaguely to the fridge, and he got the hint. 

“The kids are playing well,” he noted as he took out a Ziplock bag with greens, a container of bell peppers, and some other herbs. It still felt a little bit surreal, saying  _ the kids  _ like he and Molly were an old married couple. 

Molly took the defrosted chicken breasts from the sink. “Wally called you ‘Dad’ the other day.” 

Will almost dropped the tomato he was holding. “Wait, wait, really?” 

“Yeah. I figured you would pass out when you heard.”

Will laughed, heart pounding in his chest. “Dad. Wow.”

“Wow indeed. I had to do a double take,” said Molly, arranging the marinated chicken in a baking pan. She put a few red onion circles on the top. Will knew they would have to be removed before Wally saw them; he wouldn’t eat anything with onions. 

Abruptly, he stopped. “Is that, like, a problem for you? Like he’s replacing…” 

“Charlie?” Molly shook her head, setting the oven up to preheat. “No. It’s better that he has a father in his life, no matter what happened before.” 

Will busied himself with chopping up vegetables, tossing them in a big glass bowl. He knew very little about Molly’s ex-husband, which he didn’t have a problem with considering she knew nothing at all about Will’s past relationship. In his peripheral vision, Will saw Molly wipe her hands on a paper towel and walk towards him. The dull kitchen knife cut the tomatoes into rectangular chunks, and he focused on the sound it made clicking against the cutting board. 

Molly wrapped her arms around Will’s shoulder. “I love you. What happened in the past doesn’t matter. You’re here with me now, and that’s the important part.”

Will turned his head to brush his lips against the corner of her mouth. He stopped chopping up the salad. “I love you.” He wished he could say the same about the past.

“Now that that’s settled,” Molly pulled away once the oven started beeping. She slid the chicken-filled pan in to cook. “You better finish up that salad.” 

“Or what?” Will grinned, tossing the greens into the bowl and mixing them together. It had turned out pretty well, considering Will’s cooking experience was limited to fish, ramen, and butchering. He turned around, slightly startled when Molly caught him by the wrist, pressing him up against the counter with a giggle. 

“Or this.” She kissed him again. Will would’ve liked to think they would stay there forever, or at least, for a few more seconds. But then the patio door swung open, and Abigail yelled  _ cooties  _ like she was in elementary school again, and Wally yelled it too, and they were all laughing. Unlike the silent apartment Will forced himself to go back to every day, this was  _ home.  _ Joy seemed to fill the air. He couldn’t remember feeling this blissfully weightless, like he was a helium balloon that could float away any minute, making his come in the fluffy clouds. 

“No, but really,” said Abigail, looking towards the kitchen counter. “When’s dinner gonna be ready?” 

“You and Will can stay, if you’d like. It should be done in thirty minutes or so.” Molly glanced over at Abigail. It had taken them a bit longer to get used to each other, but they got along fine. 

“Is that alright?” 

“Of course,” said Molly and Will at the same time. Will smiled to himself. 

They played a game of Sorry to pass the time and ate dinner at the dining room table, a nuclear family arguing about the rules of a board game while shoveling varying ratios of chicken and salad onto their plates. Will was the one to take the pan out with some oven mitts, setting it gingerly on the stovetop. Although it was a quite recognizable food, the smell still made Will nauseous. He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat and called Abigail to help him set the table. There was a hint of sympathy in her eyes when she stabbed a fork through a piece and shook it on a plate. 

“I’m  _ famished, _ ” Wally announced loudly.

“Woah there,” Will laughed. “That’s a fancy word. Pretty soon you’re gonna outgrow the school library.” 

Molly speared a tomato. “Oh for sure. He reads more than his grandma does.” Her mom was notorious for her collection of books. When Will had officially ‘met the parents’ in Oregon, he spent more time in the library than out in the fields, where Wally was being entertained with ponies and chickens. “Do you read, Abigail?”

“This and that,” Abigail said. “I like fantasy.” 

“You’re applying to college this year, right?” Although Molly was just being polite with her questions, Will could see Abigail tense, body language closing off.

“Yeah. I have money saved, and my grades are pretty good.”

“Why didn’t you apply after you graduated? You’re a smart girl, I’m sure colleges were giving you scholarships left and right.” 

Will opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Abigail. “I—”

“No, Will, it’s fine.” Abigail turned back to Molly. “There was a really bad accident with my family just as I was about to move out, three and a half years ago. I was eighteen. It’s good that Will adopted me when he did.”

Molly’s face creased with pity. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know exactly what happened with you, but just know that you’re family to me. Quite literally, considering I’m marrying your father. That means I’ll do whatever I can to support you.” She didn’t press for more information, didn’t ask questions. After a moment’s pause, Abigail smiled and nodded. Will let out a sigh of relief as they carried on eating. 

He and Abigail might have their past, tangled and twisted and dripping with more blood than most people would see in ten lifetimes. But they had made it out. They were alive and well, a family. And there was nowhere else he’d rather be than here, with his unofficial children and fiancée, eating chicken salad in a house in Florida. 

Will forced himself to take a bite of the chicken, relieved when the taste of people didn’t fill his mouth. 

* * *

**_Present day:_ **

Will woke up in the hospital, again. This was starting to get tiresome. At least the annoying beeping sound wasn’t there, although the uncomfortable brightness of the room left something to be desired. He put a hand to his side, feeling the bandages there, and groaned. So his plan had worked.

“Oh good. You’re awake.” Alana’s voice cut through the air, and she set the book she was reading in the corner chair down. 

“Don’t wanna be,” was all that Will could manage. He was glad the nurses hadn’t pumped him full of painkillers; he needed to be able to focus. “Did you get the dragon bastard?” Of course, he already knew the answer. 

“Dolarhyde got away.”

Will timed his reaction carefully: a few seconds for shock, then a loud ‘ _ fuck!’  _ and collapse back against the pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut when he realized generating tears would be difficult in his hazy state. It only took a few moments of silence before Alana crossed the room. She took his hand gently. 

“When you two went out that window, the agents couldn’t make it to the backyard in time. By the time they got to you, Dolarhyde had up and ran.” 

Will exhaled, letting his eyes flutter open only when he was sure there would be tears in them. “Goddammit, Alana. I messed up. I messed up so bad. He got my gun away from me and tipped the bookshelf over and I jumped away but he had a knife—”

Alana squeezed his hand. “Shh, it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

“How bad is it?”

“The case or the…?”

“The stab.” 

Alana smiled, relieved to deliver some good news. “You seem to have a thing for those. It’s barely a scratch, so you should be able to check out today. You got lucky, Will.” 

“I don’t feel lucky,” Will lied through his teeth. Everything was working out perfectly. From winning back trust to catching Dolarhyde’s attention. If things continued to work out to plan, Dolarhyde should come after Will and set himself up for murder under the guise of self-defense. Nobody would suspect anything, and by the time they came around, it would be too late. “When can I leave this hellhole? I’m tired of hospitals.”

Alana chewed her lip. “Technically, you can check out now—”

“Fantastic, let’s go.”

“—But my professional opinion is that you need to stay here and recover.” Alana had straightened up, calling on all of her irreproachable all-business persona. “Physical injuries aside, I don’t think you’re okay to go back out there, mentally, I mean.”

“I’m never going to be a hundred percent okay.”

“But you need time to rest. Dolarhyde won’t make a move for a while, so you won’t be missing anything. The case is slow, so you may as well spend this time getting your thoughts in order.”

Will was getting ready to protest when he realized this could also work in his favor. After all, who would check hospital records of a man they had no reason to be suspicious of? He let himself relax back against the hospital bed, trying to look reluctant. Eyes downcast, mouth twisted, eyebrows furrowed. “Fine. I’ll stay here for another day or so.”

Alana beamed. “I knew you’d come around.” She looked like she was going to say something else, but was stopped by the ringing of a phone. “Sorry,” she said, pulling it out of her pocket, “it’s Margot.” Will nodded to her, evening out his breathing as he tried to relax. He may as well try to sleep while Alana was still around. “Hey darling. How is...oh Jesus. Well, tell Morgan that his mommy misses him. And turn off the news…” Alana left the room, words trailing off as the door closed behind her.

Molly only called Will  _ darling  _ when something had gone wrong. He never really cared for fancy pet names. That was more Hannibal’s deal, with all the _ beloveds  _ and  _ dearests.  _ The thought sent a pang through his heart. 

He slept, falling into darkness and thoughts of Molly. When he awoke, only a few hours had passed. 

* * *

Will checked himself out of the hospital, unwrapping the bandages on his side to find a thin line of stitches. His back was also mottled with bruises—ugly indigo and green spots that ached when he pressed on them. Alana was right: Dolarhyde would be laying low. There would be no way of getting to him right now, and Will was running on borrowed time. Chiyoh’s body would be found soon, and the detectives were sure to track the paper trail leading back to him.

As Will took a taxi to his hotel room, he glanced at his list once more.  _ Freddie Lounds.  _ When he had run off with Hannibal, he wanted to kill her first, but Hannibal had managed to convince him to put it off. The publicity was good, no matter how sordid. But now, with Freddie writing her explosive articles from a witness-protected house, nothing was stopping Will from executing his own justice. She was the one who provoked Dolarhyde in  _ TattleCrime,  _ the reason Hannibal even knew when the wedding was.

The problem was, he had no idea where Freddie was hiding. But he knew someone who did. 

Will had a curved fish-filleting knife in the lining of his coat and a gun tucked into his belt, more for intimidation than actual use. Shooting was overrated anyway. He rang the doorbell of the lavish house, and when he gained no response, broke the glass part of the door with his elbow and let himself in. The house was disgustingly tasteless, a poor mockery of wealth. Bookshelves made of faux-mahogany, a polished china cabinet, antiques that were probably made in a factory. 

_ Pathetic _ . Will expected nothing less.

Will went to the fridge and poured himself a glass of champagne, took a second glass to be prepared, settled in the dining room chair, propping his feet up on the table. He sipped slowly, taking occasional glances at the grandfather clock. His unwilling host should be home in a few minutes, assuming traffic wasn’t a pain. As he drank, Will let his mind wander to the people whose strings he was currently pulling at like a puppeteer. 

Jack was a fool; far too trusting in the moral capabilities of humans. Alana was in the same boat as him, but Will actually liked her, almost as much as he envied her. She had gotten away from Hannibal with a family while his were buried somewhere, brains splattered on the marble floor of a chapel. The new agents were troublesome, they would never believe him. He needed to do something to get rid of the Ardelia girl if she kept snooping. 

Chiyoh was easy to kill, but her murder would be part of an investigation soon, if it wasn’t already. Dolarhyde was loose somewhere, startled from his nest. He would come after someone soon, be it Will or another unsuspecting family. Numbers two and four on his list were soon to come, assuming he could lure them out of hiding. Will tried not to think of Hannibal in his waking hours, although that didn’t stop his dreams from constructing memories and fantasies from shadow. 

And Will was here, carved open and bruised, waiting for the next target in his meticulous revenge-killing spree. 

The grandfather clock rang, indicating 5:00 PM. Frederick Chilton opened the door to his house, expecting a robbery, only to find an old acquaintance reclining in his dining room. Chilton opened his mouth to speak but promptly shut it when he saw the barrel of the gun pointed at him. 

“Do come in, Doctor Chilton. It’s been a while.” Will took another sip of his champagne, not even looking at the target he was aiming towards. Chilton stepped forward once, and then glanced back out the door. “Close and lock it too, if you will. You wouldn’t want any unwanted guests interrupting our conversation?”

Mute, Chilton shook his head. He looked to be alive and well, if somewhat reconstructed. The skin grafts and makeup had done the bullet hole in his face some good. Will smiled humorlessly as Chilton locked his door. When Chilton turned back around, Will was looking directly at him, his eyes cold and piercing. The fear in Chilton’s expression was obvious, and Will reveled in it. Now that he was going up against somebody weaker, there was no reason why he couldn’t have a little fun getting to his final goal. Play with his food a bit.

“If you call for help, I will shoot you in the head. If you make any move towards your phone—actually, be a dear and take that out of your pocket, good, thank you, right on the floor, good—or towards a possible weapon, I will shoot you in the head. If at any time you behave uncooperatively, I will shoot you in the head. No reconstructions this time.” Will grinned, showing his teeth. He folded his legs back under the table and beckoned a trembling Chilton over. “Now sit down, won’t you? It would be rude not to speak to your guest.” 

“Why...why are you here?” Chilton flinched when the chair he pulled out made a long scraping noise. 

“How have you been, Frederick?” Will responded with a question of his own. 

“Good.”

“You work in therapy now, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Chilton stammered over his words. Pitiful. “I uh, I help patients recover from violence-induced trauma.”

Will snorted, swirling his champagne around. “Far cry from minding psychopaths at the BSHCI. Tell me, would you consider me to be a victim of violence-induced trauma?” After receiving no response, Will gestured slightly with his gun and pressed on. “I’m sure you know what happened.”

“I’m very sorry for your family.” Chilton’s speech came out in a jumbled rush. “I mean no disrespect…”

Will laughed. “Of course you don’t, I’m the guy with the gun. But you still haven’t answered my question.” Chilton stayed quiet. “Do you consider me to be a victim of violence-induced trauma? It’s an easy answer. Come on, Frederick, be a good boy.” Will’s voice dripped with condescension. 

“Yes.”

“Yes,  _ what? _ ”

Chilton seemed to regain some of his strength. “Yes, I consider you to be a victim of violence-induced trauma.”

God, people were pathetic when faced with danger. Most dissolved into panic, shaking and crying as if that could help them escape their fate. Chilton had obviously never read the Bible; he wasn’t aware that angels had no sense of pity or mercy. Only the task they were set out to do and the glory of their divinity. Do otherworldly creatures care about mortal feelings? Do they feel compassion for sinners, reprobates, scum? 

Will curled his upper lip, drinking some more. “So consider me one of your patients. I have no desire to kill you, I can promise that. You aren’t on my list. If I find your treatment satisfactory, then you’ll survive. But if you attempt to cross me…” Will clicked the safety on and off again to illustrate his point. “I’m afraid that would be a breach of doctor-patient confidentiality. I’m sure you can understand.”

“Yes, I do. You mentioned a list?”

“Irrelevant. Now, I believe the best type of therapy for deep-seated issues like these is closure. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes.” 

Will narrowed his eyes. “A rather quiet psychiatrist. Would a drink loosen your tongue?” 

“I’m quite alright.” 

Will took the second glass he had gotten from the cabinet and poured in three-quarters full of bubbling pale liquid. “Drink.” It wasn’t a suggestion. Chilton took the glass with trembling fingers and raised it to his lips. Will checked the clock. He had fifteen minutes to do what he needed to, starting from the second Chilton took the first sip. 

“What would your version of closure be, Mr. Graham?” He was more in his natural element here, like a slug returned to the swamp where it thrived. 

“Well, let’s see. My entire family was brutally murdered in front of my eyes by the man I used to be with and an accomplice. Any rational man would swear revenge.”

“I’m not Hannibal or a mass-murderer,” Chilton said. The public was still unaware of Dolarhyde’s involvement, as it seemed. 

“Like I said, I’m not here to kill you.”

“I hardly have a direct line of communication with the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Will drained his glass, set it aside. He met Chilton’s eyes from across the table and smiled, catching a glimpse of his reflection. Not a madman, but God’s hand, making the world better once more. Setting right all wrongs. “Freddie Lounds published many articles about me. The most noteworthy being not the  _ murder husbands  _ or  _ FBI profiler gone rogue,  _ but the sidebar in which she announced that I was living in Sugarloaf Keys with a partner and was planning a wedding in February. If I remember correctly, she was the one who taunted and prodded and poked in her paper. But I was the one who paid the price. Is that fair? Does that sound  _ fair _ to you?”

Chilton understood. Horror washed over him, making his face pale. His glass was half empty, and the clock read ten after five. Soon. Will grabbed his gun and stood, walked over to the doorstep, and picked up the phone on the floor. He handed it to Chilton. 

“You’re fairly good friends with Freddie, if my research is correct. Writing all those books together. Starring in interviews. Freddie is smart, she’s under Witness Protection, I can’t find her. But you can.”

“No,” Chilton looked aghast, shaking his head as if it would erase the situation. “No no no I can’t do that. She trusts me. I can’t do that.” 

Will sighed, pressed his gun against Chilton’s temple. “Choose quickly. Help me get closure and survive, or protect her and die painfully.” Chilton whimpered, then swallowed down the rest of his drink in one gulp and grabbed the phone. Good. The drug should act faster now that he had the whole thing in his system. “Tell her to come here, say it’s an urgent piece of information that can’t wait until tomorrow. Or just tell her you want to screw. That should do something.”

“Please don’t kill her,” Chilton whispered, scrolling through his contacts. 

“No can do. I won’t have to remind you of what’ll happen if you tip her off, will I?”

“Don’t make it hurt.”

Will paused. Chilton really did seem to care about her. Well, better to soothe the fucker’s feelings than stir him up unnecessarily. “I’ll make it quick as long as you stay quiet. Deal?” Chilton nodded and raised the phone to his ear, all too aware of the gun hovering near him. 

“Hey. No, er, this isn’t a social call although I’d love to—the reason why I’m calling, I have some information. On the Tooth Fairy or Red Dragon or whatever the hell they call him. There’s not much time and I figured you’d want to have the earliest source. You’ll be here...twenty minutes? Alright, see you then. Yeah, everything is fine.” Chilton looked like he was going to vomit by the time he hung up.

“See?” Will patted his shoulder, and Chilton jumped. “That wasn’t so bad at all.”

Chilton set the phone down and crossed over to the couch. Will smiled, watching him. “You put something in my drink, didn’t you?” He sounded slurred.

Will nodded. “GHB. Most commonly used as a date rape drug, but I figured this would be just as acceptable. Lined the inside of your glass with it. Did the champagne taste salty?”

“Dammit.” Chilton seemed to be drifting away, although he became increasingly more distressed, thrashing around and trying to force words to come out of his mouth. Eventually, he collapsed against the couch, effectively knocked out for an hour or two. Will surveyed the scene. He had less than twenty minutes to set everything up. From his time with the FBI, he knew a witness like Freddie had two or three armed guards with her at all times. That meant he had four people to kill. 

Will glanced at Chilton, upper lip curling in disgust. But first, he had to deal with a passed-out cowardly slime. He wondered if Chilton’s house had a basement. 

* * *

Some time later, a white Sedan pulled into Dr. Frederick Chilton’s driveway. Freddie Lounds left her bodyguards in the car, making her way cautiously down the driveway. While there was no camera around her neck, inside the pocket of her overcoat was a voice recorder. When she tried the handle of the front door, she found it unlocked. Her eyebrows furrowed as she stepped inside. A heavy silence had cast itself over the house, and although it still carried the warmth of being lived-in, it felt unbearably empty. 

“Frederick?” She called, finding no answer. Freddie turned to gesture to her guards, telling them to stay put. After she had pestered the FBI about how her involvement in what was dubbed the Murder Husbands case, she had finally been assigned security detail. Just in case Lecter showed up and decided to have  _ her  _ for dinner. “Frederick, are you there?” Nothing. Her voice echoed off the walls, the quiet only interrupted by the ticking of the clock in the dining room. 

She walked forward, trailing her fingers on the furniture. There was a note on the table, next to two abandoned champagne flutes.  _ Upstairs,  _ read Chilton’s spidery handwriting. Freddie frowned. Usually he was so much more direct, both as a source of information and as a partner. Sometimes there would be confidential emails and clandestine business meetings, sometimes there would be 2 AM phone calls and drunken hookups. Although she had begun to think the poor guy was in love with her. 

Freddie walked up the staircase, looking around cautiously as she did so. There was something off about the whole situation, so when she reached the second floor, she grabbed a screwdriver left out on the banister. Better safe than sorry. She wandered into Chilton’s study, growing increasingly more disturbed. It thundered through her as surely as her heartbeats.  _ Something was wrong.  _

“This isn’t funny, you son of a bitch,” Freddie yelled into the silence of his office. She didn’t have time for this. “Either you have something or you—” 

The sound of gunshots going off cut through the still air, and Freddie’s blood ran cold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! It's Freddie's turn now, lmao. Also, Will is just straight-up delusional at this point.  
> A note: The next chapter will mark the end of Act 1 of this fic, and I will be taking a hiatus to work on my Good Omens multi-chapter, and pre-write the next chapters for this fic. Thank you so much for your patience and for reading!


	6. You Hit The Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will begins his recovery. A year and a half later, the consequences of the Wedding Chapel Massacre take a bloody toll, even aside from the original tragedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my last chapter before I go on hiatus! Thank you so much, those of you who have been reading this fic. <3 <3 <3

**CHAPTER 6: You Hit The Ground**

**_One year and six months ago:_ **

Will’s eyes snapped open into the darkness of his bedroom, chest heaving. His hair was pasted to his forehead with sweat, and he felt like he might dissolve into the shadow right there. A glance to the curtain-obscured window showed no light streaming through, only the same navy sky. Too early to wake up on a Friday. Cautiously, he stretched his limbs out to the right, only to jolt when he found the side of the bed cold.

He wasn’t used to waking up alone. 

Will tried to level out his breaths: slow inhale, hold, exhale. His head still spun, a dizziness disconnected from the rest of the world. He pinched the bedsheets between his thumb and forefinger, picking at it in an attempt to ground himself. A slight tremor had overtaken him, and he curled in on himself to calm down. What had he even been dreaming about? When he pressed the issue, all that returned were dark silhouettes with long white fangs, dripping with blood. 

Will sat up slowly, wiping some sweat from his brow. Reeces, the splotchy brown Collie he and Abigail had adopted, padded over, sniffing his hand curiously. He ruffled the hair on her neck. “Hey girlie,” his voice was hoarse and shaky. “You wanna go for a walk?” She whined, which he took as a yes. Glancing out the window once more, he decided the dog park should be open. 

When he got out of bed, his legs trembled and he had to steady himself on the wall. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a wrinkled shirt he didn’t quite know the origins of. Stumbling bleary-eyed down the short hallway, he tried not to make enough noise to wake Abigail up. She deserved to sleep in, after everything. Nonstop interrogations and testimonies were bound to take a toll on someone. They’d only been in America for four months, but even then, Abigail looked so much happier. Her face lost its pallor, although the haunted, fractured look remained.

It hurt a bit to know that nothing would ever be the same. Will pulled on his shoes, tying the laces hastily. But at least they could start recovery, some semblance of normal. He clipped the leash hanging on the coat hook onto Reeces’ collar and slowly removed the two deadbolts and unlocked the door. Locks could be picked, so he installed a ten-digit passcode upon moving in. As sneaky as the Devil was, he wasn’t a hacker. 

Outside, Will could breathe better. His mind grew clearer. Once he got to the bottom of the stairwell, he wrapped the leash around his wrist and began to jog, Reeces followed suit, leaping forward with her little legs in order to keep up. Will didn’t quite smile, but certainly wasn’t as shaken as he was before. Hopefully he could be back before Abigail woke up, to make her some breakfast. He should’ve left a note.

Too late for that, though. Will tried to push it out of his mind, instead focusing on the scrape of his shoes hitting the gravelly road. The park was five minutes away or so. They could stop there. He put one foot in front of the other, almost disappointed by how easy it was to run. Parts of his past would never leave him. Reeces padded by his side, her tongue lolling out in an almost human-like grin. Her fur was blown back from her pointed face like a lion’s mane. 

Originally, he had wanted to name her Lassie, for obvious reasons. Abigail protested, and what ensued was a teasing argument in a gas station that concluded with Will pointing to the candy isle and asking her if she wanted anything.  _ Reeces,  _ Abigail had said, and after a moment of confusion, she clarified that she was referring to the dog’s name. And so the scrawny stray they had adopted in an attempt to make things normal again was named after peanut-butter chocolate bites. 

Back in Europe, they weren’t allowed to have pets.  _ He  _ always said that the hair would get everywhere and if they were ever caught, they would have to leave it behind. Will reluctantly backed  _ Him  _ up, not wanting to have any more dogs eating human flesh. So once everything had blown over with the FBI, he and Abigail took the first plane as far south as they could while still being under government surveillance. His online therapist had told Will that symptoms of survivor’s guilt should be setting in, and that he should cement his new life to avoid  _ actions he would regret.  _

Will wasn’t sure if the therapist was worried he would hurt himself or hurt others. But either way, he figured adopting a pet would bring some sense of normalcy to the situation. He stumbled to a stop in front of the small park, unlocking the hatch on the gate and stepping in, Reeces tugging impatiently at her leash. Once the fence was closed, he unhooked her collar, and she was off running. Allowing himself a quiet grin, Will walked over to where the bench was and sat down, brushing a stray curl from his forehead.

The sun was rising, ever so slowly. He allowed himself to relax. 

“Hey there,” spoke a voice, behind him.

Will’s reaction was immediate. He had trained himself long ago not to respond in the way an attacker would expect him to. Instead of startling or screaming, he let out a sharp whistle and jumped to his feet, whirling around. Another reason why he was so fond of Reeces; she was trained to respond to signals. Not quite a guard dog, he had gotten her too late for that, but a surefire intimidation tactic. She was at his heels, growling at the person standing behind the bench. 

Will realized who he was looking at half a second later, and felt supremely stupid. “Oh fuck,” he exhaled. “You scared me.” This wasn’t a hitman or anybody otherwise dangerous. It was a woman, hair tied in a messy bun, a labrador retriever by her side. 

“You okay, hotshot?” Instead of responding with the slightly fearful, slightly disgusted expression he had gotten accustomed to, she simply smiled. A smattering of freckles decorated her cheeks. 

“Uh, yeah.” WIll suddenly didn’t know what to say. “You scared me.”

The woman laughed, leaning down to pet her dog’s head. “Yeah, you said that already.” Then, she extended her hand, a gesture of peace. “I’m Molly Foster.”

He shook it. “Will.” He didn’t give his last name, no use in giving away his sordid past quite so soon. Reeces walked around the bench separating them to sniff at the other dog with jaded caution. Eventually, everyone relaxed. Will sat back down, and Molly settled on the other side of the bench. He was suddenly self-conscious of how he looked: still in his sweat-soaked pajamas while Molly wore an olive sweater and jeans. 

She looked like an art teacher, he decided. The only thing that was missing were the paint-splattered overalls. 

“So,” she said after a while spent watching their dogs run amok in the park under the sunrise. “What brings you here, so early, I mean?”

Will was used to never giving out personal information, and old habits die hard. “I could ask you the same question.” 

She seemed unruffled by the cold tone. “I don’t actually live here. I have a place thirty minutes away, I’m just in town for a client. I work in fabrics you know.”

“Ah.” So much honesty for a stranger. Either this woman was unusually trusting or Will was unusually guarded. Didn’t she know who he was?

“I just wanted to get out and go for a run, I guess,” he shrugged.

Molly seemingly ignored the fact that he hadn’t made any move to actually run, instead nodding towards where Reeces was chasing her own tail. “Is her name Lassie?”

For the first time in a while, Will felt a laugh burst from his lips. “It was gonna be, but my daughter insisted we avoid the cliche.” He saw Molly’s eyes flicker down to his hand, where there wasn’t a ring, nor had there ever been one. Well, there  _ had  _ been a ring, a while ago, but the marriage was unofficial and it was work around his neck.  _ No. Don’t think about it. Block Him out.  _

Suddenly, he felt the need to clarify. “Adoptive. Living the single parent lifestyle.” And then he just felt awkward, like he was back in middle school, starry-eyed after every girl who so much as looked at him sweetly across a classroom. 

Molly stared at him intently. “Me too.” Her eyes in the sunrise reminded Will, strangely-enough, of the warm-brown shine of coffee. 

He rose from the bench, only to look back. “Say, how long are you staying in the area?”

“Only today. But I’ll probably be back again, soon enough.”

He grinned, and she mirrored the expression. “Then I hope to see you again, Miss Foster.” When he walked out of the park, he couldn’t even remember why he was upset in the first place. Abigail was slightly concerned when she woke up to find him quiet and distractible, but she didn’t comment.

When he saw Molly again, it was in church. Although Will had more than his fair-share of sin, he had taken to going to services with Abigail. But right now, he was listening to the end of the sermon by himself, since she was currently trying to land a local movie-theatre job. He wondered if it was proper for him to pray for her interview to go well, and then decided he didn’t really care. It wasn’t like God was particularly fair, anyways. 

It was only when he was amongst the masses of the leaving congregation that he heard a slightly familiar voice calling his name. “Will! Dog park guy, Will!” 

He whirled around to make eye contact with Molly, who was speed-walking towards him with a little boy in tow. She waved with her free hand, coming to a stop in front of him. The kid squinted up at him with thinly-veiled curiosity. 

“Hey,” said Will, trying to figure out where to put his hands. He ended up sliding them in his jacket pockets. Casual was good, right? “Back in town, I take it?”

Molly grinned. “Yeah, more dresses to measure. Oh, sorry, what am I thinking? This is my son, Walter. Say hi, Walter.”

The boy mumbled something like a greeting, scuffing his feet on the tile floor. Molly sighed. “Kids. Where’s yours?”

Will’s first instinct was to dodge the question. Instead, he forced himself to look her in the eye and smile. “Job interview.” He watched as Walter tugged on his mom’s sleeve, pulling her down to say something in her ear. She nodded.

“Go ahead, but watch the road. And don’t leave the courtyard, okay?” Walter bounded out of the church building and Molly turned back to Will. “There’s one of his friends here,” she explained. “How are you?”

Will tried to think of something clever to say, coming up completely blank. “Uh, good. I’m good.” He really had been, lately. Nightmares still happened, but with decreasing frequency. Nobody from the FBI had tried to contact him. Slowly but surely, his life was coming back together. “Adjusting to the weather, all that.” 

Molly listened intently, as if that wasn’t the most boring answer ever. “Not from around here, then.”

“Up North,” was all he said. “East coast.” 

“I’m from Oregon, myself. Why’d you end up moving?”

_ Fuck.  _ Will’s mind drew a blank. He could feel himself tensing up, as if her words pulled the cords of his muscles taut. This was the only person who has treated him normally, who didn’t know. How could he tell her? There was no chance she would chase after him again, much less with a child in hand. Bile stung the back of his throat. It was impossible to speak. 

“Hey.” Molly reached out to place a gentle hand on his arm. “Don’t worry about it, okay?” Her lips stretched into a grin. “I like an enigma.” 

Will timed his breaths, trying to slow his heart rate. “Really?”

“Mhm. Listen, I’ve got to go make sure Wally doesn’t do something stupid, but,” she reached into her purse and took her phone out. “Any chance I could have your number?”

It took all of his willpower not to do a fist pump. God, he was awkward as hell. “Thought I was supposed to ask,” he said, taking the phone and typing in his contact information. 

“Yeah, well, you were taking too long,” Molly laughed, good-natured. “I really would like to meet up with you sometime, though.”

Will hesitated. This could end really, really badly. His last relationship wasn’t exactly Cosmopolitan worthy, much less a healthy one. And he already had so much on his plate, what with the whole ex-serial-killer deal putting a damper on things. But something in the hopeful, sunny way Molly was looking at him made him reconsider. Maybe he had a chance at being happy.

“How do you feel about the baseball diamond?” He said, as she walked away. “On Friday, maybe?”

Molly looked back over her shoulder at him. A strand of yellow hair fell into her face. “It’s a date.”

Will spent about fifteen solid seconds staring after her as she left. He still felt a bit star-struck as he got in his car.  _ Wow _ .  _ Cool _ .  _ Fantastic _ . Maybe things would work out after all.

* * *

**_Present day:_ **

Three bodyguards. Not bad, really, but also not a challenge if you caught them by surprise. 

And,  _ oh _ , Will did _.  _

He caught the first guard neatly, whirling around to sink the knife into his trachea, severing the vocal cords. Letting out a wet gurgle, the guard stumbled back, only to be pushed against the Sedan’s door. Angling his wrist just right, Will drove the knife through the base of his neck. He yanked the knife out with a spurt of blood only to stab him again. 

It was only when the guard’s wide eyes were bulging out of his skull and he had ceased to struggle that Will released him and let him fall to the concrete driveway with a slow thud. His throat was a mangled mess, blood streaking the white car above him like a deranged abstract canvas. The other two reacted quicksilver-fast, lunging for Will with twin shouts. He ducked away, but only barely. 

When Guard Two managed to get her gun close to Will, he lashed out, scraping his blunt fingernails down the side of her face, feeling the squishy giving in or her eye as she cried out. The gun went flying. He kicked her away, but she was on him almost immediately, blood dripping onto his jacket. The other guard reached for the car handle, trying to reach the radio. 

Now that wouldn’t do at all.

Will, shaking off the second guard and throwing her against the garage, opened up the car door for the other. And then slammed it, again and again, until the cruel crack of bone could be heard. He never even got a chance to scream before his skull was crushed. Twitching, his body went limp as well. Trying to catch his breath, Will leaned over the good of the car, panting for air.

In his adrenaline-fueled state, he seemed to have forgotten that Guard Two was still alive. Mea culpa, as they said. 

With a dull crack, she jammed her elbow against the place where his head met his neck. A sort of ringing sound followed, and Will found himself unable to comprehend even the slightest thought. With a grunt, he was forced against the car, the guard, presumably to cuff him, looked at her belt. It was then that Will, through a foggy haze, realized three things.

Number one, her gun wasn’t there. Number two, a taser wand was. And number three, he just needed one hand. 

Throwing all his weight to the side, he used the momentum to grab the taser. She barely had time to react before it was pressed against her shoulder. Only two seconds, but enough for her muscles to spasm and for Will to get away. He took off running down the driveway, eyes trained on the gun. The guard didn’t stand a chance. By the time she had made it over, Will delivered two messy shots to her head, and she was thrown back and on the ground.

Surrounded by bodies, he finally let himself relax. And maybe the repeated trips to the hospital  _ had  _ fucked up his mind in some weird way, because when the second-story window above him slid open and Freddie screamed, he was still shocked. 

Immediately, he jumped to his feet, the shrill echo of fear lingering in the air as surely as the smell of blood. Heart thundering, he ran upstairs, turning towards the room she had been in—Chilton’s study. Nobody was there. It was like Freddie had vanished, red coat becoming nothing but dust in the wind. 

He paused in the doorway, letting his hand fall away from the wall. Where could she have gone, really? 

He took one, cautious step inside. 

Freddie jumped at him with a yell, the screwdriver in her hand sinking into his shoulder as he whirled away at the last second. As he recoiled, she pushed him aside and ran. Distantly, he heard the slam of the front door as she disappeared outside. Yanking the tool from his flesh with a small spurt of blood, Will pursued her. If Freddie got away, the entire thing would fall apart. Not only had he confirmed her suspicions, but he also gave her the opportunity to connect his involvement with Dolarhyde’s case. 

He could not let her get away. 

Good thing was, Freddie’s hair blazed like a stop-sign, giving him something to look for as she ran down the road. Will pushed himself to go faster, regretting his decision not to bring a gun. It was only when he was almost caught up with Freddie that he realized she had stopped running. He stumbled to a halt a few yards away. She was holding a piece of black plastic, a voice recorder, most likely.

“Take one step closer and I’ll click play.” She raised her chin defiantly, not a hint of fear in her voice. “This streams directly to my personal broadcast. When the police search my computer, they’ll hear you.”

Will narrowed his eyes. “You’re bluffing.” 

“Wanna find out? Listen, I’m not an idiot like Chilton. You can reason with me.” Freddie’s eyes were as keen as a hawk’s as she stared Will down. “Tell me, did you snap when the first shot was fired, or did that  _ break  _ happen when you woke up?” 

“You’re not surprised.” 

“No, I’m not. I could sense that murderous instinct a mile away. And once a killer, always a killer.”

Will knew she was trying to keep him talking, trying to prolong the minutes ticking down to her death. But something in her tone intrigued him. “What do you know about the church?”

Freddie grinned. “I know Hannibal was involved. I know it and I kept it from the papers. Why do you want to kill me, Will?”

Will began to inch closer. “You leaked the wedding to the press. It’s  _ your  _ fault Hannibal could find me at all.”

“Are you going to kill him too? Along with whoever you’ve already caught?” Freddie’s teeth shone like that of a cat. Or a snake, he supposed, would be more accurate. “It won’t bring Abigail back, you know.” 

Will nodded. “I know. And maybe you’re right, maybe I have snapped in some fundamental way. Worse than what happened when I ran the first time. Because…” he focused completely on her, ready to pounce. “Because I know and  _ I don’t care. _ ” He lunged. Things happened quickly after that. Later, he wouldn’t recall chasing Freddie back into the house. He wouldn’t recall him wedging his body in the front door before she could slam it.

All he remembered was catching her by the hair at the top of the staircase, slamming her head into the wall with chilling brutality. The knife was still at his side. Unlike Chiyoh, he had no words to speak to her. Only cold, blind rage as the blade sank into her chest, was yanked out, and then was driven in again. Blood streaked the wall, and yet she still fought, clawing at Will with crimson hands and all of her depleting strength.

Well, it would be rude not to let her go. So Will did, the crack of her neck as she hit the bottom of the stairs oh-so satisfying. 

He walked down, sighing in disappointment when he realized how much cleanup there would have to be. Things were so much easier with Hannibal around, as far as DNA went. The voice recorder was still in Freddie’s hand. He plucked it out and saw it was going. So she had turned it on after all. 

He crushed it beneath the heel of his boot. Cleanup could wait. Now, he had to pay a visit to his host. Will decided not to take a shower. He could easily have one after he completed his last task of the day. After all, no use in washing blood off twice.

He found Chilton right where he had left him, tied to a barstool in the basement, groggy but awakening from the effects of the drug. Will watched carefully; as soon as Chilton’s eyes flickered open, he lunged forward, only to lose his balance and fall on the concrete with a crunch. When Will pulled him back up, Chilton’s nose looked crooked in the dim light. 

Chilton’s face went lax with horror as he saw Will, as if for the first time. Blood matted his hair and streamed down his body, little bits of viscera sticking on his clothes. And his eyes. Chilton had been around insane people for most of his career, but had never seen anyone so unhinged. 

Will smiled. “Now, I’ve had a rather successful day, despite some setbacks, so I’d really like for you to cooperate.”

“You’ve already had my help to kill her,” Chilton’s voice broke as he listened desperately for Will to deny it. When nothing came, a sound between a cry and a curse left him. 

“I just need you to listen. Listen and sit very still.” Will began to circle Chilton, like a predator stalking its prey. “Can you do that for me?”

Chilton nodded.

“I have no intention of killing you. None, I promise. Do you know why?”

Chilton shook his head. Will sighed.

“I'm allowing you to keep your wicked life for one reason and one reason only. So you can tell  _ him _ , in person, everything that happened here today. I want  _ him _ to witness the extent of my mercy by witnessing your deformed body, and I want him to know that soon…” Will’s gaze met Chilton’s for a fraction of a second. “...they’ll all be as  _ dead _ as Chiyoh and Freddie.”

Then, Will dropped to a crouch behind Chilton and began his work. The knife tore through flesh, just shallow enough to clearly spell out words. Chilton screamed. And kept screaming. And didn’t really stop, not until blood slicked the ground underneath him and he had gone unconscious from the pain.

Will stepped back to admire his work. He could drop Chilton off later, leave him as bait for Hannibal, the perfect way to send a message. But now, he beheld what he had made. 

Carved into Chilton’s back with torn, bloodied letters was:  _ Rev 6:17 _

* * *

An unknown time later, in an unknown location, an unknown man looked down upon the mutilated body of Frederick Chilton

“Tell me, Frederick…” Hannibal’s voice was like molten gold, hiding the horrifying weight of truth behind his words. “Does he know Abigail is alive?”

  
  
  


_ For the great day of His wrath has come, and who is able to stand? _

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed <3   
> I'll be back!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I thrive on feedback, so please leave a comment telling me your thoughts and predictions. Weekly updates.  
> <3


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